


Misha's Not in Vancouver Anymore

by Elizabeth1985



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Rimming, Spn!Verse, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 74,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident on set results in Misha ending up in the SPN!Verse and stuck with a confused and irritated Dean Winchester. Dean, Sam, and Castiel have to work together to find a way to send him back. Misha's cheekiness brings to light the things that Dean only ever thinks about in the space between waking and dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Holy Shit!"

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this just randomly on Tumblr and kanoodersnooder asked me to continue so I did!
> 
> Beautiful Story Header done by [StrengthCas](http://okaycas.co.vu/)
> 
> NSFW Fanart done by the awesome [drawthelinestoallconstellations](http://drawthelinestoallconstellations.tumblr.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One second Misha's doing a take in one location and the next he's on his ass in front of the bunker. Thinking it's all a prank somehow, he isn't fazed by the man opening the heavy door who appears to be Jensen. About thirty seconds later he's metaphorically thrown on his ass a second time as he realizes the man holding open the door isn't Jensen at all.

The last thing Misha remembered was slicing the palm of his hand on a jagged staple sticking out from the side of a table on set, amidst saying random lines that were to be part of a spell. The next minute he found his ass landing solid on damp grass, the wetness soaked through his dress pants, and he could’ve sworn, just before glancing up…

_What the fuck!?_  Misha’s eyes went wide with something near panic and edging straight up on fear.

Glaring tall in front of him was the blank lines of the bunker. No crew around, nothing. Everything seemed _off._ He had no idea how he came to be there because this place was, in fact, not the actual site where the inside scenes were filmed—which was where he’d been not ninety seconds ago.

With his hand still trickling blood and his ass soaked through, Misha stood up, utterly confused and brushed off some of the wet grass from his backside.

He tentatively walked towards the bunker door, his agitation growing into a viscous coil in his stomach. Something’s really not right here, he thought.

When he tried to push open the door, he met firm resistance. The thing didn’t budge—way more solid than he’d remembered. And it was locked. He pounded a fist against the iron door. “Hey guys! Let me in! What the hell did you do? Drug me or something?” He shouted through the thick panel. He looked around to see if anyone would come jumping out from behind a tree, chortling and snapping pictures, but no jokers made themselves known.

With an abrupt creak, the door was yanked open by Jensen, who was looking about as stunned as he felt. And then it got worse…

“Cas?” Jensen said, leaving Misha stumbling to try and determine if Jensen was fucking with him, or what the hell might be going on.

“Uhh, Jen, what the hell?” He pulled his head back to regard the taller man more thoroughly. Misha was sure they’d been on set moments ago, but yet he’d managed to switch locales and Jensen had on a whole different set of clothes. It didn’t make any sense.

“Who the fuck is Jen?” Jensen asked sharply and Misha’s confused expression dropped into a blank stare as his brain slowly tried to make sense of the prank. It had to be a prank. _It had to be._

“Seriously, knock it off. How the fuck did I end up out here?” He asked again, growing tired of the games. He was damp, and he was getting kinda pissed.

“End up here? Cas, what’s wrong with you?” Jensen reiterated, looking worried. Misha groaned impatiently, thoroughly displeased.

"Ugh... Seriously! Cut the shit. God, sometimes you and Jared…” He shook his head. “I swear to God." Halfway through his rant he noticed the change. Jensen's face froze tight, his lips forming a straight line and his eyes growing wide with dawning realization. 

"Oh, fuck me!" Jensen griped, hanging his head heavily. "Not again!" Jensen turned slightly in the doorway and for the first time Misha could truly see inside…

Except... It can't be...

_No fucking way..._

"Sam!!!" Jensen shouted into the belly of the bunker. But wait, _not_ Jensen. _Dean._

"Holy shit!!!" Misha blurted in a loud outburst. He reached across the threshold to grab ‘Dean’ by the shoulders and shake him in rough jerks, just to make sure Misha wasn’t losing his goddamn mind.

"Dude... What the hell?" Dean yanked himself back, giving Misha a funny look. 

Jared… No, no. _Sam_ came running up behind Dean and gave Misha a once-over. 

"Oh, hey Cas. Didn't know you were coming back for a while yet." Sam greeted casually to which Dean sighed dramatically, his head flopping back to glare at the ceiling. 

"Not. Cas." Dean gritted through tight lips. 

"Huh? What do you mean? Of course it's Cas." Sam countered with a scrunched nose. 

Misha has been standing there watching them converse without saying a word, he was sort of still stuck on: What the fuck, and How the hell, and I'm gonna die. 

"I'm not Castiel." He voiced warily, adding to the confusion. 

"Jimmy?!" Sam asked incredulously, eyes blown out in shock. At that, both Dean and Misha harrumphed impatiently. 

"No, dude, he's the actor guy. Universes gone whacky again. Always friggin' something!" Dean mumbled before marching away from the entrance as if the idea of Misha showing up at their door was in no way ground-breaking news to him. Which... fair enough for their lives, but for Misha? This was like—holy fucking hell goddamn mother of Satan! _Shit_... What if I'm stuck here?

"Oh, wow!" Sam said. "C'mon in man. This is crazy. How did you get here?" Sam asked, his curiousity giving him that bouncy Jared energy that Misha was at least familiar with. It was sort of comforting. Minus all the demons and death and all that. 

"We were doing a scene and I cut my hand. Some spell." He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Do you remember the spell?" Sam asked, walking into the library room and angling a hip up onto the table. Dean was seated already with an open book in his hands and didn’t seem to care that he was there. Whoopity-do for you, huh? You emotionally constipated...

Dean slammed the little book shut with a snap, startling both Misha and Sam. The older Winchester turned to face him with a skeptical lilt of his brow, “Wait a minute, didn’t you die?” Dean narrowed his eyes. Sam copied his brother’s suspicious eye to a tee. Misha didn’t miss that Dean’s hand twitched for a weapon.

Misha slanted his head as he thought. Shit, apparently Dean and Sam had actually gone to their universe. But that didn’t make any fucking sense cause, clearly, he had not died. And he’s pretty sure he would have remembered Sam and Dean showing up.

“I remember filming an episode where you guys come to our world and I acted out a death scene… but I never _actually_ died.” He elaborated with an ambiguous shrug. Misha’s overview was, evidently, not to Dean’s satisfaction who scrutinized him with a sharp, fierce intensity.

Sam snorted with a wry grin, “You seriously filmed an episode where we went to your world and had to pretend to be the actual actors?”

“Yeah” Misha smiled. The craziness was part of why the show was so interesting to him.

Both brothers exhaustingly shook their heads.

“So then what the hell happened? Did we actually go there, or maybe we went somewhere else?” Sam speculated, rubbing a hand over his chin.

“Oh, we were there. C’mon Sammy, remember the fake-ass everything!?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, a curious uncertainty shared with his brother, “Who the hell knows anymore.” He commented in a low voice, giving up on the brain-teaser.

“Whatever, dude’s here. Figure out how to get him home or something.” Dean grumbled as he turned his attention back to the vintage, hard-cover that had settled on the table.

With a disapproving frown, Sam turned back to Misha, "So, Misha?" Sam mouthed slowly, his lip pulling to the side worried he was butchering the odd name.

"Misha, yeah.”

“Wanna tell us about this spell you were doing before you ended up here?” Sam asked. Dean had obviously decided the conversation was no longer interesting to him and didn’t even glance to the side.

“Well, the spell was different than the one in the French Mistake—the one you guys would remember. That much I know. It was your lines actually, well, Jensen and Jared anyway. I didn’t have any input because the spell was directed at Castiel. It was supposed to be something to get Cas' grace back somehow." 

Dean shot up from his chair, "Get Cas' grace back?"

"Yeah..." Misha confirmed, looking between them. Sam, genuinely curious, glanced at Dean. His brother’s face was contorted with severe worry.

"Shit… You don't think that spell messed with Cas, do you? Like, our Cas?" Dean asked, shifting his gaze to Misha and then finally settling alarmed eyes on his brother.

Sam's face floated concern, his shoulders lifting with uncertainty. Spurred on by fear, Dean whipped his phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial with familiar precision—as though he'd done it more often than the show would have anyone believe. Misha took notice. 

"Oh… Thank God." Dean visibly relaxed. "Yeah, no we're good too. We, uhh… We have a visitor... you... yeah, Cas I know you're in Michigan," Dean paused to roll his eyes, "No, no... Would ya shut up already? _You_ —as in the actor dude. The one from that parallel universe or whatever.... What do you mean what is he like? He looks like you dumbass, but with you know... uhh, less stick in the ass kinda way.... Shut up... Yeah, of course I think you should come back… Okay, okay... See ya in a few." Dean shoved the phone back in his pocket and angled his head at Sam.

"What did Cas say?" Sam asked. Misha leaned in to hear what his doppelgänger had to say. 

"Not much, he has no idea what's going on. He's heading back our way but said he has to deal with some things first." Dean remarked snidely, like he was pissed that Cas didn't tell him what he was up to.

Misha smirked because it was absolutely hilarious seeing it live. He knew the way Dean and Cas came across to the audience and half the time he and Jensen played it up but this bout of their reality was just too good. They were totally a married couple. Misha had a hard time containing his laughter. 

"You and Cas, you guys talk a lot?" He asked with a straight-face. Dean didn’t catch on but Misha caught Sam hiding a smirk with a hand brushing over a clean mouth.  Evidently, the younger Winchester had seen the eye-fucking that went on between those two. 

"I guess, why?" Dean replied dubiously, looking him over like he was carrying the Ebola virus or something.

"Just curious. We only do the scenes right? Snippets here and there. It's interesting to see how things are when the cameras aren't rolling." He explained and the desire to push this guys' buttons were soooo strong and _damn_ he wished Jared were here to help drive these two nuts. But then he remembered that Dean had killed a lot and that shut down those mischievous thoughts pretty quick.

"Yeah, real life's a bitch." Dean cruelly remarked before thumping down unceremoniously into the chair, one foot propping up near Sam as he settled into the book once more. Pushing back on the table, Dean balanced on the hind legs of the solid wooden chair.

"So..." Misha edged out, smacking his lips with idle impatience. "What now?" He asked. 

"I don't know. Umm, make yourself at home, I guess?" Sam suggested and moved to sit down at the head of the table.

"Hey, do you guys still have Crowley locked up?" Misha asked excitedly, earning hard stares from both men. Maybe he shouldn't have been so excited, but Mark was awesome and he would’ve loved to have met the actual Crowley. He was dying to walk in there and repeat Jensen and Jared's words from the outtakes: "Crowrey, Crowrey..." Though the king of hell wouldn't get it, and might just kill him for the mockery. 

Misha walked around to sit beside Dean, even though there were four other chairs available. Dean turned to give him a sharp glare that basically said move or die. Misha, being the shit that he was, smiled back fully; a slight curve that brought the smile onto the other side of a grin. 

"Whatever." Dean grunted and returned to his book. 

"So, did you know that Dean and Cas become a thing in season ten?" Misha casually slipped out and the reaction was well-deserved. Dean tipped back in his chair and fell with a loud crash on the floor. Sam started coughing on his own saliva and Misha erupted into laughter so hard he had to hold a hand over his stomach when his abs started to cramp.

"Jee—sus.... Ha! Oohh... God! The... look... your faces..." Misha chopped the words into fits of laughter; his hand smacking the table as Dean roughly got up and fixed the chair with unnecessary violence; the wooden legs thundering down onto the hard ground. Misha's laughter died down. 

Small little chuckles still escaped him... he couldn’t help it. It was like being on set, when you know you can't laugh, but Jensen’s licking his lips at you with the camera at his back, overall just being a little fucker. 

"Are you joking?" Sam asked with bugged-out, excited eyes, like he could only imagine all the different ways he could drive Dean insane with that knowledge.

"Sam!" Dean snapped, slamming the book on the table and standing up to march off out of the room. 

When he was out of sight and out of earshot, Misha leaned across the table and faced Sam's kid-on-Christmas-morning grin and said, "I'm actually not joking at all. We did the kiss scene during the finale of season nine." He confided in a low voice with a conspirators gleam.

Sam went crazy, fist-pumping the air, and that was when Misha saw that light-hearted version of this man make a brief appearance—so different than how he’d been the last few years. Misha hoped that the Sam he was seeing was the truer version that he’d remembered from the show. But something told him that the glimpse of joy would be short-lived.

 


	2. Who are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha and Dean struggle to understand one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy I continued this... it's so much fun! hehe :)

“They kissed?” Sam was near squealing in delight and Misha chuckled at the sight.

“Yeah, the fans went a little insane. Apparently tumblr crashed for like four hours or something…” Misha still couldn’t believe the support and explosion that followed that episode. It was pretty unreal; to think that their show was the first ever to have an alpha-male character be identified as bisexual and have the transition so smooth and gradual that people were so immediately accepting. It made him extremely proud to be a part of it. There was also that side-bonus of being able to kiss Jensen with an audience.

“What’s tumblr?” Sam asked, his face scrunching up.

“It’s like the holy grail of internet sites for fans.”

“Huh, interesting. I guess.” Sam replied.

“So where are you guys at now in the storyline?” Misha asked, he’d noted the mark on Dean’s arm so he wasn’t way off.

“Storyline?” Sam said bitterly. “You mean our _lives_ right?” He clarified harshly and Misha immediately felt like shoving his foot in his mouth. It was a difficult transition to think of these two as Sam and Dean and not Jared and Jensen.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just… this is absolutely insane. You get that, right? This shit doesn’t happen in our world… universe… _whatever_!” He threw his hands up in defeat. How do you make sense of something so bizarre? Answer – you don’t. Just fucking roll with the universe switcheroo’s.

“Well, Dean has been…” Sam stumbled for words, running his fingers over his jaw before letting out an anxious breath. “ _Off_ … since he picked up the blade. We’re still looking for Abaddon, but don’t have much to go on.” Sam’s earlier excitement was so far gone now it was hard to picture the smile that had been on his face.

Misha took in the crease between his brows and felt anguish for these men. How absolutely horrid their lives had been. Being in character and feeling what they would feel is one thing, but living day in and day out endless tragedy, heartache, and pain would devastate most people. How these two have managed to stay functioning (for the most part) is pretty damn close to a miracle, and he said as much to Sam.

“It’s not a miracle.” Sam looked Misha in the eye, “it’s fucking stubbornness and hate. And… lack of choice.” He explained and Misha didn’t know what to say in turn.

“Do you care if I wander?” He asked instead.

“Sure, maybe find a room for yourself. Who knows how long you’ll be stuck here.” Sam told him, and turned back to his book before halting and meeting Misha’s stare once again. “Just maybe take it easy on Dean, alright. He’s fucked as it is already...” Sam’s voice was filled with concern and Misha felt out of place in the middle of all that tension between the brothers.

“Yeah, no problem.” He replied and wandered off down the hall. The halls seemed wider, darker than they did on set. So many little differences; the colour of trim, the feel of the floor under his shoes, the smell like earthy stone and library books.

Misha ran a hand along the wall, feeling the minute cracks under his fingers. Most of the doors along the wall were closed but he stopped when he got to the one that he knew was Dean’s. He paused in front of it, trying to stare through it to see the broken man inside. Thinking of Dean and thinking of Jensen was a bit like trying to understand a math problem in a different language. He also thought about how different this Dean might be from the character Dean, just as the bunker held small insignificant variations from set, this man might be the same. He knocked lightly on the door, remembering Sam’s warning to not purposely aggravate the hunter. It didn’t mean he couldn’t interact with the man.

A gruff, “ _what?”_ came from the other side of the door and Misha turned the handle slowly in case a refusal jumped out at him, but he heard nothing and pushed open the door. Dean was sitting at the end of the bed, his sleeves rolled up. The Mark of Cain stood out harshly against the relative smoothness of the inside of his forearm. His other hand hung off his knee, the fist wrapped around a twenty-sixer of whiskey.

“Want to share?” Misha nodded towards the half-empty bottle. Dean held his eyes for a brief moment – a quiet assessment before he extended the bottle outwards. Misha walked forward, grabbed it, and took a swig. It burned and he stifled a cough since he wasn’t used to hammering hard alcohol but if there was ever a day for it – this was it.

Dean smiled at him, “not a hard drinker are ya?” He noted.

“Yeah… not really. I work a lot and I have two kids – doesn’t leave much room for alcoholic tendencies.” He supplied, watching Dean’s reaction to the jibe.

Dean huffed sardonically. “Yeah well…” He shrugged and took the bottle back for a swig.

Misha moved to the far side and sat down at the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle from Dean’s hands, their fingers brushing for an instant. It was shocking to feel that same flash that he did with Jensen. Just a touch, and it sent a fucking shudder right through him. Dean was keeping a keen on him, and he wasn’t bothered by the open assessment – even wondered what Dean made of Misha’s reaction to him. They were both trying to adjust to seeing someone they care about as someone else.

“Something good is coming for you.” Misha offered quietly, worried he might spook the angry, self-hating man on his right.

Dean snorted, “Me and Cas? If you really think that would be a good thing, you don’t know shit.” He shot back. Misha swallowed and his hands felt sweaty. Fuck, these two were intense.

“I know enough.” He retorted. They stared at each other; the seriousness of the gaze was so reminiscent of about a thousand scenes between him and Jensen. In fact, it had been part of the reason things had eventually changed between them. You can only stare at someone so much without wondering how they might feel in your arms or underneath you. Maybe Jensen had that reaction for a lot of people, but maybe their friendship had simply spiralled out of control, casually slipping past the point where “ _just_ _friends”_ became a little too close, too physical, and then, suddenly, it was… more.

He remembered the times when he’d realized what had once been a regular hug had become a lingering embrace, where instead of a detached hold was now a chin resting on a shoulder, or an arm wrapped around a waist, fingers pressing tighter over clothes and wishing it was skin. They didn’t smell the same he realized as Dean shifted on the bed beside him, his body straightening as he drank some more. Dean smelled like soap and deodorant, and a bit of alcohol that seemed to be seeping out of his pores. Jensen however smelled like his heady cologne, clean, and warm. He always smelled warm and Misha had said as much to him, always earning a laugh, “ _what does warmth smell like_?”, he’d ask, and Misha would only smile in return. It couldn’t be explained.

Misha supposed it was a bit the same for Dean and Castiel. That edge of friendship long since passed. The only difference being that he and Jensen had confronted it.

“I know that he is what you need to come out of this on the right side.” He explained when the silence had gone on long enough.

“My salvation?” Dean remarked sarcastically.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Misha reminded the hunter delicately. He started to wonder how long he’d actually be here. Had anyone seen him vanish?

“Do you know what’s gonna happen?” Dean asked him, his voice thin. He sounded terrified and Misha debated what to tell him. Would telling him change the outcome?

“I feel like I’m in Back to the Future and honestly, kinda worried here that I might say something or do something that will cause everything to turn on its head. Make people disappear or something.” He admitted, snagging the bottle back cause he needed it now. The liquid burned all the way down until it sloshed in his empty stomach, since he hadn’t eaten since that morning. Jared handing him a microwaved breakfast burrito as he’d exited his trailer at six-thirty had seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Give me somethin’ here, man. I feel like I’m fuckin’ drowning.” Dean’s hands shook where they rested on his thighs and Misha pretended not to notice, passing him back the bottle silently.

“Everything works out.” He provided vaguely. “I know that’s not what you want to hear and I know you don’t believe it, but there it is.” He shrugged.

“Enlightening.” Dean glared at him, giving a wry curve of his lips that could in no way be classified as a smile.

“You want to know how to find your way out of this?” He asked without waiting for an answer before he continued, “follow that nagging pull in your gut every time you’re near Cas.”

Dean finally grunted his irritation as he jumped up from the bed and began an angry pace in front of him. “Would you cut the crap already? God, you and your fuckin Hollywood bull-shit. I can’t believe you’re sitting there wearing his _face_ and telling me that…. Fucking love and shit is gonna come in and save the day. Are you serious right now?” Misha opened his mouth to respond but was abruptly cut off. “Cause I can tell you that I loved my parents, I loved Lisa… and Ben” Dean let out a harsh breath and Misha could see him wiping his palm over his jeans, “love doesn’t save shit. If anything it makes it worse.” He finished his rant with less ire than he’d begun it.

Dean faced away from him, the air in the room filled with the dense feel of Dean’s anguish and pain. Misha didn’t know how to argue against that level of giving up. Misha wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be sitting on Dean Winchester’s bed trying to figure out how to make the man realize that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe it was impossible. Fuck, what did he know? The two universes weren’t synonymous by any means. Dean could die on any given hunt in this world.

His eyes had lapsed into a stare at the dresser off to the side, seeing the real picture of Dean and his mother propped against the lamp sent his stomach curling as he remembered the scenes from the pilot. His stomach heaved and he swallowed thick trying not to vomit. He looked up to find Dean watching his reaction. The man didn’t say anything to him. Misha could see the horror of it in the way Dean’s eyebrows were slightly pulled together, the tense line of his mouth and jaw.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. The moment turned softer and more intimate than he’d realized and fuck if that wasn’t his entire relationship with Jensen; efforts at normalcy that didn’t quite make it.

Dean passed a hand through his hair, “Yeah… me too.” He said.

Dreaded silence stifled the air once again and Misha had the perverse urge to say something wholly inappropriate, like _“Jensen sometimes laughs after a particularly intense orgasm, what about you_?” but he thought better of it.

“What’s on your mind?” Dean asked, fixing his gaze on Misha as he leaned against the side of the dresser.

Misha’s laugh came out a little too strained and slightly hysterical causing Dean’s eyebrows to raise in suspicion. The kind that said he was both eager and terrified of finding out why Misha was laughing.

“I’d tell you but I don’t think you’d appreciate my insight.” He explained, his grin bordering on wicked before he could call it back. It made Dean nervous, who looked away from him and rearranged his arms several times before deciding on them hanging loose by his sides as they’d been before.

Misha chuckled low under his breath, “look, man, I get it. This freaks you out, me knowing what I know. I haven’t even said anything and I can see you reading me and taking it all in. What do you see exactly? I’m honestly curious.” It wasn’t the direction Misha had been planning to take his words, but he was honestly curious to how Dean saw him, and all the crap under the surface.

“The way you look at me freaks me out.” Dean replied rudely, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his head lower to look at Misha through his lashes.

“How do I look at you?” He asked.

“Like you know me… like really, _really_ know me.” The ‘ _If you get what I mean’_ went unspoken. “Like you pity me. Are maybe even a little scared of me.” Dean blinked his eyes into another direction, “And you should be.” His words were steely and fixed.

“Because of the blade?” Misha assumed.

“Because of a lot of things.” Dean corrected.

Misha stood and Dean instantly went on alert, his hands dropped to his sides and his body eased off from his lean on the dresser. Misha walked closer, coming to stand less than a foot apart – roughly the distance they would take on set from each other. He pulled the bottle out of Dean’s grasp and took some more of the contents for himself. It made his eyes water and without looking away from Dean’s face he placed the bottle on the dresser and grabbed the cap that he’d seen there earlier and twisted it over the top.

“Don’t have any more tonight.” He said in what he hoped would sound commanding but he was pretty sure it wasn’t more than a plea.

“Where do you plan on sleeping?” Dean asked as he moved away towards the door, their arms brushing as he’d turned.

“Wherever you want me to.” Misha said cheekily. When Dean turned back to glare at him Misha was grinning, and instead of the telling-off that he’d been expecting Dean only shook his head and chuckled quietly.

“How about as far away from me as possible?” Dean said, but there was a trickle of something in his voice – _could that be humour?_ Misha thought sarcastically.

“Dean, you love me.” Misha replied in Cas’ deep flat voice and he saw Dean’s shoulders bunch up tight in front of him as they made their way down the hall.

Two doors down from Dean’s room, he stopped. Misha nearly crashed into him thinking that Dean had actually planned to put him in a room at the end of the hall.

“Bathroom’s there,” Dean gestured to the door between their rooms, “this one’s empty. I think Charlie slept here once, maybe. Anyway… I need to head out for some stuff but Sam’ll be here going through books and stuff if you need anything. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to send you back. Cas should be here by then.”

Dean turned away but Misha grabbed his arm before he could make his escape.

“Are you going to meet up with Crowley?” Misha whispered and Dean moved so fast he missed it and was only aware of the cold wall that his back was shoved hard against.

“That is none of your goddamned business and if you say anything to Sam, I swear I’ll make sure your ass gets stick in this shit hole of a world.” Dean threatened, his face brutally harsh up close. The darkness he saw in the green eyes he knew so well was a serious wake-up call. _Fuck… I’m really here. I’m actually trapped in this place._

Dean let go of the grasp on his shirt but didn’t move away. Dean looked confused for a moment, his hand pausing and laying flat against Misha’s chest. His heart was beating hard against his ribcage and he would bet Dean could feel it. _Thump-thump.. thump-thump.. thump-thump…_

Dean sighed and dropped his head between them, his hand slipped lower until it pressed against Misha’s stomach. He thought he should say something.

“You shouldn’t go.” Misha couldn’t see Dean’s face but his hand flinched where it rested against him.

“You don’t think I know that?” Dean said it so low he could barely make out the words. How could two men who were the same but not at all the same make him feel like this?

“Then why bother?” He asked the obvious. They didn’t know where Abaddon was so why did Dean need to see Crowley. Of course Misha understood the reasons for TV show purposes, but this wasn’t a fucking show anymore. The scars here were real.

“I…” Dean looked up, leaning forward; his eyes had gone glazed and a bit wild. Misha had thought there was a lot of wrong shit floating around up in that guy’s head, but this look cinched it.

Misha wondered what Cas would do but then decided to simply react as himself. His hands moved around to Dean’s waist, wrapping around him comfortably and with a familiarity that Dean wouldn’t know, but Misha was certain he’d feel it. Dean looked as though he might bolt, but Misha pulled Dean against his body in the same not-so-casual kind of way he always did with Jensen. It was a full-framed hug that brought them flush together. Dean was either too confused or too drunk to care and allowed his arms to slide around Misha’s upper body. Dean sagged against him, holding tight around his shoulders, and Misha let their combined weight settle against the wall. He tightened his hold, squeezing hard enough to let Dean know what it felt like. It wasn’t as weird as it should have been, at least not for him. He couldn’t say the same for Dean – that man rarely hugged anyone – and definitely not like this.

“What are we?” Dean’s voice was muffled from its origin against his shoulder, but he felt the base of it against his sternum.

Misha snorted, “Me and you, me and Jensen, or you and Cas?” He had to be dreaming.

“D – All of the above.” _God, his voice was deep._

“Well technically I just met you so don’t get any ideas,” he quipped to lighten the mood, before moving his hands to Dean’s waist, pushing him away gently.

“Jensen and I are… _together_.” He said soberly and then angled his head, “you and Cas? I guess… that remains to be seen. I can tell you what happens on our side but then again… I already did.” Misha winked and reached up to pinch Dean’s chin between his finger and thumb.

“Wait… wait. You said you had kids…” Dean said frantically, putting further distance between them.

“But you and him are together? We have kids? I mean, he has kids?” Dean flustered around in his own little circle for a moment before Misha felt like answering. It wasn’t an easy answer. It never was. It was the reason for pretty much every fight he had Jensen had ever had. Oddly, he and Vicki never had any about it.

“Well… that is, umm, complicated.” He said, easing into the topic.

“You want me to stay here, then tell me.” _What am I a cookie?_ _I give you little tidbits of info and you behave?_ Mishanearly responded with something snarky but reined his normal tendencies in for like the hundredth time since he’d gotten here.

“I am married. So is he. We both have wives, I have two kids, he has a kid. On top of all that, he and I have whatever it is that we have. Our wives know everything… it’s… it is what it is.” He shrugged, pressing his lips together as though it were no big deal.

“That sounds insane.” Dean replied, making a face that said he thought it absolutely ridiculous.

“So it doesn’t make sense to you, I don’t give a shit what you think. You’ve been in love with Cas for years and you hardly let him see that you care at all. You’re both so fucking stubborn it makes me want to claw at my eyeballs watching the two of you… or what would have been Jensen and I. You get what I’m saying. Don’t judge my love life when you don’t even know how to recognize your own.” Misha slumped his shoulders and softened his next words.

“You asked me to give you something about the future, some key knowledge. Well you have it. Do with it what you will.” He said and quickly turned and went into the vacant room, closing the door behind him.

He finally let himself breathe as hard and fast as he’d wanted to in the hallway. Misha was more than overwhelmed with all of this. He was worried about what had happened on the other side, on _his_ side. He tried not to think about the possibility of never seeing anyone again… his kids. He started pacing nervously and tried to think of a way out. He watched ten years of this show, lived through six years of it. He should be able to figure this out, or they would, or Cas would. There was no way he would get stuck here.

He couldn’t stay in this room, he had to do something. He was never one for sitting around. He pulled the door open to find Dean standing in exactly the same spot as before. He hadn’t been expecting it.

“I can’t stay in there. I need to do something proactive.” He stated and Dean nodded vaguely – lost in thought.

Misha forgot himself for a second and moved into Dean’s space and placed a hand on his cheek, he was halfway leaning in to kiss him when he saw the panic in Dean’s eyes and realized, _shit,_ this is not Jensen. He pulled his hand away sharply and apologized.

“For a second… you… nevermind.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck nervously.

When his eyes found their back to Dean’s, the heat in them threw him for a loop. It was gone before he could figure out what to do about it. Dean seemed to come back to himself.

“Tons of books in the library. Sam will point in the right direction for stuff that might help your situation.” He said.

“Thanks. What are you going to do?” He asked pointedly.

Dean exhaled through his nose in a burst of air, “I don’t know.”

“Actually… I’m starving; I haven’t eaten in like ten hours or something equally ridiculous. And that bit of whiskey is rolling around in my stomach right now. Do you mind showing me the kitchen?” Misha wasn’t lying, he was even starting to feel a little light-headed. They’d been near done their scene when he’d gone and switched universes.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean answered and turned the opposite way down the hall and Misha followed behind him.

The kitchen was very industrial, similar to the set, but a lot of key differences here. It was very clean, organized, cupboard food taking up residence along the shelves on the wall. A lot of stainless steel everywhere.

Misha immediately hopped up on the steel prep table. “So, what are you gonna make me?” He asked.

“Who said I’m making you anything?” Dean replied, but his voice didn’t carry the normal barky tone. It was softer, more playful and Misha loved to hear it. It reminded him of Jensen.

“C’mon, I’m a guest!” He said in a cheery voice, smiling at Dean who now leant against the sink in front of him.

“What do you like?” Dean asked reluctantly as he walked over to the fridge.

“What do you have?” Misha shot back, leaning back on his arms.

“Ugh… you’re gonna drive me insane, aren’t you?” Dean pulled the fridge open and peroused it for something to eat.

“We got leftovers, leftovers, more leftovers. Chicken with a curry dill sauce…” He trailed off.

“Chicken sounds good. Did you make it?” He asked as Dean pulled the container from the fridge and popped the lid as he moved past Misha to get a plate.

“Yes…” Dean admitted, as if he were ashamed of such a thing.

“You’re a good cook.”

“How do you know, you haven’t eaten it yet.” Dean gave him a look from over by the microwave. Pressing the buttons and the room filled with the low hum of the appliance.

“It’s in the show. Besides, Jensen is a good cook as well. When he tries. He’s often pretty lazy though.” Misha smiled endearingly. He remembered the first time Jensen tried to cook them a romantic dinner. The meal itself had been amazing. Spicy pad thai… _really_ spicy. But after dinner they got a little drunk and their clumsy meandering while making out as they attempted to make it to some surface resulted in a broken plate, a plant that had been knocked over, and a bruise on his knee.

The beeping of the microwave pulled him back to his new reality only to find Dean staring at him openly. He watched Dean lick his lips. Misha stared back. _Fuck…_ what am I doing?

The microwave beeped again, an impatient, annoying sound. Dean turned around and got out his food. He grabbed utensils and set the meal beside Misha on the steel table. Dean resumed his stance by the sink.

Misha turned to the side and began cutting into what looked like a really delicious meal. There was rice on the plate, perfectly cooked chicken and a curry-dill cream sauce on everything. He cut it up and mushed it all together before taking a bit. It was incredible and he moaned in surprise.

“Good?” Dean asked. Fuck, when he smiled like that, all shy, it really looked like Jensen.

“Mm…maz-ig.” He tried to speak around a full mouth. He was too hungry to pause between bites.

“I’m nothing like him.” Dean said out of nowhere.

“I never said you were.” He replied after swallowing, nearly halfway done his plate.

“You… earlier in the hallway.”

“Well, you may not be the same person, but your expressions. Your mannerisms, your fucking culinary skills – there are a lot of similarities. Can you blame me?” He grinned down at Dean across the small space between them.

“You’re something else. It’s friggin’ bizarre seeing his features twisted with your expressions. I can’t make sense of it.” Dean shook his head like he could dispel the confusion with some movement.

“Do you wish to see him smile the way I do?” Misha asked, the conversation switching from light to serious again.

“I’ve never seen him really laugh ya know? Not once. Not really.” Dean’s voice held longing that made Misha’s throat tight.

“He’s ticklish.” Misha offered after a moment.

Dean angled his head with irritation. “Yeah, that’s totally something we’ll do tomorrow. You hold him down and I’ll tickle him. That’s not gay at all.”

“You are infuriating.” Misha replied, running his hands over his face, wanting to rake his nails into the skin. This man was so stubborn that it was grating to be around. Maybe no one ever pushed him enough. They were all too scared.  

“I’m aware.” Dean shot back, a little smug.

“You really need to face reality, buddy. You _like_ Cas, you’ve thought about men. Embrace it.” Misha knew it wasn’t late yet, but he was getting exhausted.

“How about we don’t have that talk.” Dean said in a clipped voice.

Misha slid down from the counter and moved close enough to feel the body heat hover between them. He leaned in close to Dean’s ear, surprised that he didn’t pull away, “don’t you want to know what it feels like to have him inside you?” Misha whispered boldly, pressing up against him.

Dean’s breath came in a pant and he didn’t even try to say anything. Misha’s hand trailed up Dean’s side, feeling him tense under his fingers. “You’ve thought about the warmth of his skin.” He told Dean. “Can you picture him shuddering with pleasure from your touch?” Misha felt himself got hot as he pushed against the body in front of him. He moved his face against Dean’s neck, nudging into the space, skimming his lips over the skin. Fuck, he was one fire.

“I know he’s thought about it. He wants to feel you deep, so deep that he doesn’t remember how it feels not to have you a part of him.“ Misha breathed roughly against Dean’s skin, his hands running down Dean’s muscular arms. His fingers traced the lines of Dean’s palms before letting go and reaching out to grip Dean’s hips and push him harder into the counter.

“He imagines in full clarity, with every detail, how it would feel to wake up next to you. To be able to tell you he loves you.” Misha saw Dean gulp and fidget. His breathing deep and strained, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him like he was holding on for dear life.

“Don’t you want to feel him coming inside you while he looks into your eyes and whispers your name?” At that Dean finally snapped and Misha was thrown back against the back of the steel table, causing contents on the shelf below to clang and smash together. Dean served him a feral look as he grabbed at Misha’s waist, and then his hips, sliding up to his chest… those hands moving everywhere like the couldn’t settle on anywhere specific. Almost like he didn’t know what to do but couldn’t stop. Misha moved his leg between Dean, rubbing against him.

“Ahhh… fuck….” Dean groaned harsh, his eyes unfocused and he dropped to Misha’s lips in blind desperation. It wasn’t at all delicate, it was rough and hot. Misha moaned at feel of Dean’s solid erection pressing into the inside curve of his hip. Dean kissed without reservation, and he didn't hold anything back as his fingers dug in underneath the waistband of Misha's pants. Only then did Misha come to his senses and push Dean away. 

He breathed hard trying to catch enough air in order to speak while Dean stared at him angrily, "what the hell?" He said with fluster.

"I don't think this is a good idea..." Misha explained. "I didn't mean for it to go quite this far, forgive me that. This whole thing... you and Cas, me being here..." he trailed off, uncertain of where his words were even going. 

"All that stuff you said..." Dean moved closer.

"I wasn't being cruel, I was being honest. I was telling you what you already know. You want him, you love him, and you're not alone in that." Misha said softly.

Dean exhaled sharply before looking down at the very evident erection still straining his jeans, "thanks for this by the way." He smiled bitterly and Misha laughed.

"Sorry... I honestly didn't mean for anything to happen.. but you're, umm, captivating. If it were just you, I wouldn't have stopped. However, I don't really want your first time with him to be with me, if you get what I mean."

Dean laughed, "and here I thought today was going to be boring." He said and surprising Misha completely, he leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

Seeing the surprise on Misha's face, Dean asked him what he did wrong.

"That was completely out of character." Misha blurted.

Dean shook his head with a smile. "We just made out and it's out of character for me to kiss you?" Dean looked mildly offended if Misha was reading him accurately. Maybe it was like the little cracks in the walls, this little bit of sweetness in Dean that he hadn't expected. Especially not the mark on his arm.

"Kind of." Misha admitted finally and Dean pressed another soft kiss against his lips.

"I bet there are a lot of things about me that would surprise you. Probably not half as much as you've surprised me." He said, finally backing away from his personal space.

"I'm not sure I agree with your insight or assessment, but I won't say I didn't enjoy your attempt to persuade me of your version of the truth." Dean told him, smirking while he spoke. "Anyway, let's go hit the books then." He said, looking down at his crotch, "now that I'm presentable again."

As they walked out of the room, Dean leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, "don't think you won't pay for that by the way." Dean threatened and Misha had a moment of panic wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into.  Jensen is either going to laugh or be really pissed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that. Next chapter (when I get around to writing it) will be with Castiel coming back and Dean making sure Misha and Cas never spend any time together, terrified that Misha will be as blunt with Cas as he was with Dean. If anyone has any suggestions for cute little awkward scenes for that chapter feel free to prompt me with it.


	3. A Late Night Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen worries over Misha's disappearance. His laughable prayer, unbeknownst to him, is actually heard by Castiel who has nearly arrived at the bunker. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Misha calls it quits on the research for the night and crashes into bed. Sometime in the middle of the night, Dean comes in, unable to stop himself from figuring out the quirks of the Castiel replica that has him scratching his head. Dean finds that this peculiar man has the ability to make him smile and laugh, and it's not something he finds is warranted in much of his life nowadays. Misha seems convinced that Dean could have this with Cas. Will Misha managed to convince him? 
> 
> Read and find out :) :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this damn one-shot has turned into crack for me. I frickin' love writing it. Enjoy. More to come.

Jensen was freaking out. Like, really fucking freaking the fuck out. _Fuck!_

“How the fuck can you tell me to calm down, Jar?” He gestured widely, nearly knocking the coffee pot clear off the counter. He placed a hand on top of it to stop it from teetering off the edge.

“He’ll be fine! I’m sure Cas, and the extremely handsome and smart Sam, will figure something out to get him back.” Jared said, making a disbelieving face at his words while at the same time looking smug as fuck.

“You realize how totally crazy that sounds? Cas isn’t real!” Jensen countered but what other explanation was there?

It had been about –he glanced at his watch—eleven hours since Misha had gone and fucking vanished not two feet in front of him. Jensen doesn’t mean Misha dropping to the ground in fake angel mode – but as in ‘ _Beam Me Up Scotty’_ vanished. It didn’t make any sense. And yet, the only explanation that fit was the most unbelievable of them.

“Okay, umm, how else would you like to explain Misha blinking out of existence directly in front of us.” Jared pegged him with a hard glare that screamed ‘ _Sam Bitch Face’_ louder than words.

“Aliens?” Jensen offered unconvincingly.

“Riiight…” Jared replied. “Look, why don’t we try, I dunno know, praying to Cas or something?” Jared suggested, knowing how nuts it was.

“I’m not praying to Cas.” Despite the already ridiculous thing that had happened, he just couldn’t fathom praying to a fictional character. It was too far past stupid.

“I’ll leave so you don’t feel like an idiot. What should I tell everyone else? We’ve been avoiding the rest of the crew all night?” Jared asked. And they had – it was their shit luck (or ominous foreboding) that had caused the camera to shut down and the lights to flicker out during the scene. Only Jared and Jensen had been close enough to see it happen. They’d been reciting the words of a spell when Misha had made an odd face, a flash of pain maybe and then POOF! Gone! Just like that.

“I don’t know, man. Make something up. Fake an emergency, whatever.” Jensen said. “We can’t say the truth they’ll think we’re nuts! Fuck, maybe we are nuts. Maybe we’ve worked on this show too damn long and it’s literally got us believing that this shit is real!” Jensen rattled off on a tangent that would inevitably lead him in circles.

“Calm down, Christ. You’re losing it. We’ll figure it out.” Jared said, the calmer of the two.

“Okay, okay. Go.” Jensen said, ushering him out of his trailer.

With Jared gone, he was left to stew in his own panic-laced juices. This stuff didn’t happen. This stuff wasn’t real. He kept repeating it over and over again, but the truth was he’d seen it. It wasn’t a prank or a trick, Misha was… gone. Literally and truly gone.

“Fuck!” He yelled again, slamming his fist on the counter by his side. “Get a grip.” He said, coaching himself under control.

“Ok… so here it goes,” _I’m such an idiot._ “Umm, Castiel?” Jensen shook his head at that and brought a hand up to his forehead in a valiant attempt to hold in his brain which was essentially exploding inside his skull.

“I can’t fucking do this. This is ridiculous.” But as he said the words all he could picture was the image of Misha getting hurt. The sliver of possibility that it was all true had him thinking of what to say. The thought of Misha somewhere, in another world, in real danger sobered him –no matter how crazy it seemed.

“Dear Castiel, Angel of the Lord, Angel of Thursday – if you can hear this, please find Misha, he looks like you. I think maybe he’s, umm, in your world. Fuck… this is stupid. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m probably insane. But in the very rare possibility of unlikely circumstance that this is in fact happening, please, please bring him home.” He sighed and made a cross over his chest, just in case.

Nothing happened. He’d been expecting something, he realized. At the conclusion of his haphazard prayer and the five minutes that followed, he’d been near sure Misha or Castiel would suddenly appear. Instead, he was alone inside his trailer, praying to a fictional character about the sudden disappearance of his secret lover. This day wins for crazy. Of all days that have ever been had in this entire world, in all the lives that ever existed on it, this day wins. He’s sure of it. 

Jensen decides to sit down in the bench by the table across from where he’d been standing. His arms fold onto the table and he uses them as a pillow trying not to think about something terribly tragic happening at this very moment.

**/\/\/\**

Castiel was nearly there when he heard the strange resonance of Dean’s voice inside his head. It was very, very faint. He could hardly discern what the words were but his gut feeling tells him that it was not Dean at all. It took him a while to realize it was the voice of Dean’s doppelganger from another world. The one he and Balthazar had sent Dean and Sam too.

The man was frantic and dissonant with his words; he was worried, Castiel realized. Judging by the development the night prior, he understood why. Frankly, he was amazed that the prayer had carried across the two worlds and was certain it had to do with the bond that he shared with Dean which clearly extended to his double elsewhere.

**/\/\/\**

Misha, Dean, and Sam spent the rest of their night researching spells that might reconnect an angel to his grace in an attempt to discover what might have gone wrong. Misha was fascinated by the books and texts in this place. He loved reading and this was a reader’s fantasy. Sometime after midnight he decided to call it quits. His eyes were burning and he was having a hard time accepting that this was actually where he was.

He was starting to freak out on some inward level. He was terrified of never seeing his family again or Jensen. When he eased up from the table, his stretched and arched his back, his hands clasped together high over his head. He looked over to Dean to say he was done for the night when he caught Dean staring something fierce at him.

Misha smirked at Dean, and then looked at Sam, “I don’t know how you guys do it. I’m fuckin’ zonked.” He pushed away from the chair, easing it back under the table. “I need to sleep.” He said as he passed behind Dean’s chair, unable to stop his fingers from grazing against the back of Dean’s neck.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Sam nodded in response whereas Dean glared with full, simmering heat and Misha would bet his left nut that he would not rest undisturbed that night.

Regardless, he made his way to his temporary room and collapsed on the bed. He thought that perhaps his worry and concern would keep him awake, but exhaustion pulled him under in less than five minutes. He hadn’t even removed his clothes or shoes and so when Dean came into his room three hours later, he found Misha sprawled out on his stomach, his hair flat in areas and sticking up elsewhere.

**/\/\/\**

Dean observed this Castiel-twin and tried to pick out the physical differences between them. Misha slept with his head turned to the side, his mouth slightly parted with both arms stuffed underneath the pillow. Misha had stirred something in Dean that he did his absolute best to ignore, but with this guy around, it was damn near impossible.

He baited Dean, used the one thing –the only thing—that got under his skin, against him. Right up against him, in fact. Not that Dean was complaining. It was a strange opportunity to be able to have some twisted sexual exploration with an exact replica of the man he was undeniably in love with. He’d known it since Cas had become human. Maybe he’d always known it, but seeing Castiel’s mortally still body slumped in the chair at April’s had caused something to shift inside of him.  It was a monumental change, like tectonic plates shifting around the globe. They were unstoppable, and as it turned out, so were his feelings. When he’d reached down and held Cas’ face in his hands, feeling it unnaturally heavy with dead weight, the lax muscles of his features ripped him apart from the inside.  He realized then that this had become more than friendship, more than family.  He’d wanted to caress the ex-angel’s face with his fingers and with his lips – to touch it and memorize it. When Ezek— _Gadreel_ had brought him back to life, Dean had been tempted to kiss him, full on mouth to mouth – thank fucking god you’re alive—kind of kiss. One that surely would have had Sam and Castiel both sharing looks of surprise.

To be in this room staring down at a Castiel duplicate, one he’d already made out with, was an interesting development. His curiosity and fantasies were cluttering up the rest of his thoughts and made it hard to concentrate on anything.

Dean walked towards the bed and ran a trailing hand from Misha’s ankle up the back of his bent leg, over his ass and up his back, to finally land in his messy hair. Dean lightly ran his fingers through it – wishing he could do this with Cas – to touch him this way. But he couldn’t; Cas wasn’t stupid by any means, but he was naïve and oblivious. Dean knew that Cas cared about him, but to what degree? Love had a plethora of definitions. He could be a brother, a friend, a “charge” as Cas had referred to him once, or he could be more – there was no way of knowing without making himself vulnerable.

Misha had tried to convince him that Castiel felt the same way, and as much as Dean enjoyed the method of convincing, it hadn’t worked.

His index finger moved over the edge of Misha’s jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble against his skin. Misha stirred and made a soft noise but didn’t wake up. The enticing man was entirely out of it.

It took Dean nearly fifteen minutes of standing over Misha’s sleep-ridden form spent gently caressing parts of his body when Dean discovered how much of a creeper he was being. Of course, he wasn’t about to leave – he would just make himself known – _much less creepy_ , he decided.

Dean very gently pulled the outside of Misha’s elbow out from under the pillow, using it to slowly turn him onto his back. Misha swallowed but flopped right over without difficulty.

Dean found himself smiling at the image. He moved his right hand to hover over Misha’s crotch and leaned over and pressed his mouth against the plump lips, light pink and dry – just like Cas’. Dean deepened the kiss at the same time that he rested his palm on top of Misha’s dick.

Misha moaned into his mouth, lifting his hips up into the touch.

“Hmm, what’re you doing?” Misha mumbled, half asleep.

“Paying you back.” Dean smirked against his mouth, tracing Misha’s lips with his tongue.

“Mmmnn, s’not… good… ide-ahh.” He said through a yawn, making Dean laugh.

“Don’t worry, you were right. I want Cas. But, I want a bit of this too… with you.” Dean kissed him deeper, rubbing his hand in slow strokes, feeling Misha’s erection grow and harden under his touch. 

Misha groaned, still sleepy. He kissed Dean back lazily, before moving his head away from the touch.

“Does this count as cheating?” He asked with a smile, his eyes remaining closed.

Dean chuckled, “I don’t think so.” With Misha’s mouth out of direct reach as it craned back into the pillow, Dean moved to give the attention of his lips and tongue to Misha’s bared throat.  Dean loved the reaction he got as he sucked and tongued over the thin layer of skin. Misha moaned louder, canted his hips more desperately into Dean’s tentative hand.

“Ahhh, _god,_ that feels good…” Misha’s voice held that subtle lift indicating a smile. Dean moved his hand faster and used his free hand to bring Misha’s face back towards him for a kiss.

Dean opened his mouth wide, letting his tongue slide along Misha’s until suddenly the kiss quickened, becoming messy; their lips shiny with spit as they devoured each other. Misha’s mouth suddenly went still, his body pulling tight and he slammed a hand over top of Dean’s pushing down hard and started jerking soundlessly as he came. Dean continued to fuck his tongue into Misha’s open mouth. Eyelids of the same delicate skin as Castiel’s fluttered in his sight as Misha started to come back down from his orgasm.

Dean’s hand was damp and so were Misha’s pants but neither seemed to care. He stroked him a few more times at the right moment to elicit an extra surge of pleasure, knowing innately exactly how to ride that high for as long as possible.

“Jesus Christ…” Misha breathed, rubbing Dean’s fingers while the other hand cupped around Dean’s neck.

Dean kissed his reddened-puffy lips and started unbuckling Misha’s belt.

“I can get you a change of clothes.” Dean said, sliding the belt open and flicking the button with his finger and thumb.

“Fuck the clothes. I’d rather be naked. If you want to join the naked party I won’t object.” Misha said, now fully awake.

“I thought you didn’t want us to, ya know, do it.”

“I don’t! Gosh, you think I’m that easy?” Misha teased and then more seriously, said: “Me not wanting us to have full-on sex does not mean we can’t do anything at all. And really, I’m not abstaining from that with you because _I_ want to; I’m doing it for you.” Misha explained, tapping Dean on the noise – which Dean _did_ _not_ care for.

“Ugh… I swear you’re trying to annoy me on purpose.”

“Perhaps.”

“Shove over, I’m getting in. And get rid of your sticky pants – and everything else for that matter.” Dean said dominantly as he chucked his shirt over his head and dropped his pants without fanfare.  Misha did the same before getting in under the covers on the far side of the bed.

“You continue to surprise me.” Misha said as he stared at Dean as he slid in under the covers.

“Oh, it’s nice and warm in here.” Dean said, squirming over towards his… _whatever Misha was._

“Benefits of sleeping with someone else.” Misha said, “you should try it with Cas, he’s extra warm, you know?” Misha teased.

“Well for tonight, I have you.” Dean said moving close enough to pull them together, feeling another naked body – a hard, male naked body—flush against his own was euphoric. His entire body was tingling with pleasure. Of course it didn’t hurt that Misha happened to have Castiel’s face.

“Yes, for now.” Misha agreed before kissing him slowly, attentively.

The kiss paused as Misha lay there, lost in thought, running his fingers over Dean’s arm, stopping to trace the outline of the Mark of Cain scar. Dean flinched from the extra sensitive touch but allowed Misha to continue his exploration.

“We never see this.” Misha told him.

“See what? The Mark?” Dean asked, confused.

“No. You, like this. Relaxed, sweet, open…” Misha kissed his shoulder and then his neck before placing a soft kiss at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“So, what? I’m a total asshole on the show?” He asked, finding himself moving his fingers across every muscle, ridge, jut of bone, or dip and crevice on Misha’s body. He memorized it, wondering when, or if, he might get the chance to compare the memory to his angel.

**/\/\/\**

“No.” Misha laughed. “Well, a bit. But you come off more as… emotionally stunted.” Misha said, nuzzling his face into Dean’s neck and breathing in the scent that he was already so familiar with even though it wasn’t Jensen.

“Not far off the mark on that though. I suck at all that crap, but this…” Dean grabbed Misha’s hips thrusting his erection into the dip there, kissing Misha’s temple at the same time, “ _this_ … I am good at.”

“Saying things with words is one thing, showing them is another.” Dean explained further and Misha thought he could fall in love with Jensen’s double as easily as he’d fallen in love with the original.

Oh God, Vicky was going to laugh at him for sure over this. “ _For a crazy man, you sure are predictable.”_ She’d say. For some reason he didn’t think Jensen would be as easygoing. He’d certainly come a long way – the once shy, uptight, very Texas-based man—was now far more outgoing than he’d ever been before, definitely more flirtatious, and generally more laid back. But there were still times when his born ‘n’ raised roots showed through. Despite the fact that they were both married, Jensen could be quite jealous. Idiot never admitted to it – which was goddamn annoying because Misha would be sitting there wondering what the hell he’d done wrong and Jensen would be all: “ _Nothing’s wrong, what do you mean?”_ Except his voice would contain a hint of distance. At least now Misha knew how to handle it.  Maybe he would skirt around the details of his other-world experience when he returned. _If_ he returned…

“Do you think you can get me back home?” Misha asked, interrupting Dean’s cataloguing of every square inch of his body.

“We’re gonna try. What? You itchin’ to get away from me?” Dean teased, twisting one his nipples. Maybe Dean had expected a different reaction, but Misha whimpered with pleasure instead.

“Hmm… you like that.” Dean said and did the same on the other side. He then started pinching different sensitive areas. Not painfully, but sharply enough that it felt good. The addition of Dean’s mouth right below his ear had him mindlessly grinding against Dean’s hard length in no time at all.

Misha didn’t know if he could come so soon again but the tightness in his sac made him think he could. As much as he’d like to say he could finish with little to no rebound time – he simply wasn’t a teenager anymore. That being said, for his age and considering the fact that he had two kids and a demanding job, he managed to have a ridiculous amount of sex. Of course, sleeping with a coworker always helped.

Misha reached down and wrapped his long fingers around both of them. Dean jerked from the touch, returning to Misha’s open mouth excitedly. Dean hmmm’d against his lips, his tongue moving against Misha’s. Dean  rubbed his hands down Misha’s back, grabbing his ass in a full tight grip before moving around to his hips and up over his chest between them.

They kissed and thrusted and touched until the pace picked up and the slow controlled movements got lost in the passion.

**/\/\/\**

Dean rolled over onto Misha, grabbing onto the headboard while Misha continued to stroke them both. Dean laid his forehead on Misha’s, staring into his eyes as he started moving fast into Misha’s damp fist.  Looking down into those blue eyes was what did it for him, he came hard, his vision receding for a moment and he crashed against Misha’s mouth, obscenely kissing him as Dean surged forward with each spurt of come. He grunted from the intensity of it, the gravelly moan vibrating between them as he felt Misha come a minute later, the other mans’ muscles tightening and flinching the same as before.

Dean absolutely loved staring into Misha’s eyes as he watched him orgasm. It was, without a doubt, breathtakingly sexy. 

And he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he would need to see Castiel like this. Need it like he needed air. To fuck with it all and waiting and uncertainty. Dean was going to throw caution –and apparently any shred of decency or dignity to the wind. Take it all and just throw it the fuck out the window.

“I think I saw something flicker there.” Misha observed as they rolled over onto their sides, facing eachother – disgustingly covered in sweat and come.

“Maybe.” Dean said innocently.

“I finally convinced you.” Misha was without shame in his degree of smugness.

Dean wiped the come from his own stomach and wiped it on Misha’s face, “ _THAT_ was for being so damn self-satisfied, you little shit.” Misha laughed and moving fast, rubbed his cheek against Dean’s which lead to a really gross five minutes of horsing around naked.

When they finally stopped laughing and lay breathlessly, messily on the bed, Dean sighed.

“Thanks.” He whispered.

“For what?”

“For giving me this. Hope… or whatever.” Dean explained terribly. He truly was horrible with words.

**/\/\/\**

“Anytime, babe.” Misha felt a twinge of guilt from the endearment. It’s what he said to Jensen during very private moments. The two men were so different, but fuck, so much the same.

“We badly need to shower.” Dean said. “And get new sheets.” He looked at his watch and groaned. “Let’s just sleep in my bed after the shower.”

Misha was way on board with that plan. He didn’t want to be awake much longer. The middle of the night escapade was great but his exhaustion was still wearing him thin.

“Do you want to carry me?” Misha asked – mostly just to bug Dean but seriously wouldn’t turn him down if he said yes.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Dean said, levelling him with a glare.

“Mostly, but if you wanted to, I wouldn’t stop you. I’m friggin’ tired as fuck.” Misha said as he threw the covers off, sending a waft of heady sex-scent everywhere.

He stood up at the same time as Dean and they both laughed quietly at how fucking sexed they looked, hair sticking out in all directions, a good portion of their bodies covered in come, and Misha wearing little red splotches from Dean’s earlier pinching.

“Have fun explaining _that_ to your boyfriend.” Dean said smiling as he gestured to Misha’s body.

“Fuck you.” Misha playfully snapped back.

They made their way to the shower, Dean pretending to be annoyed by Misha slapping his ass on the way there but Misha knew he loved it.

They washed each other at Misha’s insistence, horsed around some more, creating an utter mess of the Men of Letters shower room –water everywhere—before finally turning the taps off and getting dry.

When they settled into Dean’s bed, Misha turned Dean around and cuddled against his back. He squeezed Dean’s ass and kissed the side of his neck.

“You can have this with him.” Misha said in a whisper against Dean’s back. Dean didn’t say anything in return, but the stiffening of his body told Misha that Dean had heard him.

“I know it seems crazy, or maybe it’s not, but if it’s worth anything, _I_ care about you.” Misha closed his eyes and fell asleep with Dean’s response chasing his dreams. _I care about you too._

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel will show up next Chapter - I promise! More fun on it's way!


	4. Kill me with awkward tension.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam get's called off to a hunt leaving Dean alone with Cas and Misha. Awkwardness, sass, and jealousy ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking a while with this, but I am not able to update on any kind of regular schedule. Sorry guys!

 

Warmth was the first thing Dean noticed, he stretched his limbs and felt his toes bump against a shin. His eyes flashed open to the other side of the bed and saw Cas sleeping beside him. His heart skipped a beat, thumping irregularly for a brief moment in time.

No, no wait. _Misha_. Misha had ended up in bed with him. What a crazy-ass day yesterday had been.

But damn, that was… _shit_ , for a second there…

Just one stupid little flick of time he’d thought he was in bed with Cas. That dark hair all sticking up, tousled and messy. His cheeks and lips soft and smoothed out in sleep. Everything looked still about him, such a quiet sleeper. Didn’t move much, didn’t snore like Dean did most nights.

The more he stared, the more the lines between this man and the angel blurred. Dean got lost in a fixed stare, his eyes getting glassy from not blinking. Misha barely moved, the lifting of his chest in even breaths getting lost under the covers, and the stillness reminded Dean of Cas’ face at Aprils, so goddamn still. So soft and relaxed in death.

A weird chill swept over his skin and he blanched at the thought of ever seeing Cas like that again. How would he ever handle that if he let himself free-fall into something with the angel? How hard would losing him be after feeling his heartbeat under Dean’s fingers?

Dean’s breath shook and in a mild panic he snaked his hand under the covers and placed it over Misha’s heart. He felt the beats, steady against his touch. It calmed him but not much.

Fuck, he needed to get out of bed. Dean was starting to see them as the same man and that wasn’t fair to either. He wanted to get lost in the soaring feeling that Misha had awoken in him but he just couldn’t shake the dread that he felt over letting go.

He threaded his fingers through Misha’s hair. He’d been doing so good since what’d happened with April. He hadn’t said a word. He didn’t think he’d been acting differently either. Dean had been damn good at ignoring that friggin’ pressure in his chest. And now… fuck, this man lying naked in his bed was unraveling all of that control.

He forced himself to remove his hand from the tangle of Misha’s hair and gently slide out of bed. He got dressed as quietly as possible, wincing when the dresser drawer creaked. Misha still didn’t move. The temptation to wake him up and fill his senses with the scent and taste of skin was strong, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t allow himself to lose control like that again.

Last night, at the height of his satiation and filled with happy-hormones galore, he’d believed all the stuff Misha had said. That he and Cas would be—could be—something amazing and that it would somehow be an endgame for them. But now, sleep-refreshed and clear-headed, he couldn’t envision that happy ending anymore.

He only saw Cas’ slacken dead face.

Dean closed the door to his room and started making his way down the hall. As he rounded the corner towards the kitchen he bumped into a hard body.

“Hello Dean.” Cas greeted in that deep voice of his. Dean jumped a little, taking a quick step back. A tidal wave of guilt seized him but then he thought… _why?_ _There’s nothing between us._

His features hardened with anger. Unjustifiable rage at Cas for no good reason.

“Took ya’ long enough.” He barked out, pushing his way around to get coffee.

He found the pot mostly still fill and emptied some into a big mug with a crack at the top. He always grabbed the one with the crack in it. He didn’t know why. He liked its imperfection. Christ, if he was looking for a metaphor…

“Dean, I told you I had things to do before I could get here.” Cas explained brusquely.

“Yeah, yeah.” He brushed it off. Not wanting to discuss Cas’ angel business, all those excuses he used for never sticking around.

Dean sipped his coffee and they stared at each other. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but there was banked anger there. And something weird, he sensed. But maybe that’s just because he’d fooled around with a Cas replica. Dean didn’t know how to act anymore around the real deal.

He cleared his throat.

“So what d’ya think about the spell? I mean, you and Balthazar sent us over there, you must have some idea how to send him home?” Dean asked, sipping his coffee. The heat of the cup piping hot in his hands.

“No, unfortunately that spell won't work. As it wasn't the same spell that sent him here we have no idea where he might end up. It's not exactly a science. Does he remember the spell?” Cas asked eyeing Dean's coffee.

“Not really, says they weren’t his lines and they hadn’t done that many takes. The spell apparently had something to do with trying to get his… your… grace back though.” Dean elaborated.

“My grace?”

“Yeah.”

Dean couldn’t help that he softened when Cas’ eyes lit up with hope. The angel started pacing on the far end of the prep table. Dean stood in the same place he was when him and Misha had kissed. The words Misha had tempted him with started floating around inside his head and his cheeks felt hot the more he replayed the words as he watched Cas walk around. A lot of clothesless images drifted around behind his eyes and he hoped it didn't show on his face. Or... in his pants.

“Do… do you think it’s possible Dean?” Cas asked, stopping and turning to face Dean.

“I don’t know Cas… it’s just a show there.” Dean placed his cup back on the counter behind him and leaned back with his elbows on the counter.

Cas stepped forward, approaching him until they were close. Dean wondered if Cas could hear his heart beating faster? It was like déjà-vu. He imagined Cas coming into his space the same way Misha had. Except he wouldn't.

“Dean, are you okay? You seem… different.” _Fuck…  
_

“Uhh… yeah, I’m fine.” He sipped more of the coffee. “How about you?”

“Fine.” Cas replied, the tone skeptical.

_Well, aren't we both in fine form today?_

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked.

“Already doing more research.” Dean nodded and grabbed his cup again.

“C’mon let’s go hit the books then.” Dean brushed against Cas’ side as he walked past and it was like a shock. Had it always been that way? Or was it worse now because the warmth of his body felt more real than before?

Cas grabbed his elbow as he stepped into the hallway. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” He asked again.

“No. We’re good.”

“We’re good?” Cas repeated, pulling Dean’s arm to turn him around. Dean felt sweaty.

“Uhh.. yeah. Umm... me and you. We’re good.” Dean almost shook his head at the stupidity of his answer.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Cas asked suspiciously. _Fuckkk…_

“No reason.” Cas’ eyes did their squinty thing and Dean knew he was being analyzed. He wondered what was going on inside Cas’ head.

When they finally made it in the library, Sam greeted them and Dean grabbed two books quick and sunk into their text as fast as he could. He couldn’t shake the tension or the awkward blanket that was now draped over everything.

**/\/\/\**

It only got worse when Misha woke up forty minutes later.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asked as he walked into the room. Dean had a moment to lose all colour in his face hoping to God that Misha didn’t give away the fact that they’d slept in the same bed, let alone done other shit.

He shook his head as minutely as possible to try and convey the desperate plea for silence.

“Uhh… thought you needed the sleep.” He responded with an awkward smile. Sam gave him a strange look but hopefully he just thought Dean was being weird. It happened often enough.

“Yes I did. I was pretty tired actually…staying up late and everything.” Misha replied with the barest hints of a grin. He fucking winked at Dean though and thank God no one saw that. Dean grimaced as hard as he could.

“Castiel, I take it.” Misha stepped over and tapped Cas on the shoulder who’d been studiously focused on whatever he’d been reading. Cas turned around and didn’t say a word as he looked the copy up and down, his focus intense.

“Yes… that is me.” The angel squinted. “You are Misha Collins?” He extended his hand cordially. Dean’s eyes were wide and flashing between the two like a flying tennis ball. Sam was also staring at the weird exchange.

“The one and only.” Misha replied with a grin, shaking Cas’ hand. The comment gave Cas that weird adorable quizzical look he sometimes got, but nonetheless smiled at his twin.

Goddamn, but this was the weirdest thing he’d ever seen. Naturally, his brain took a trip down porno-lane and numerous ménage-a-CasDeanMisha played through his head.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his blood dropping from his brain right into his pants. The only coherent thought that he had was: _Get a hold of yourself, you’re a grown man._

Dean found them all staring at him and for a second he wondered if he’d said something truly horrible and revealing out loud.

“What?” He blurted angrily.

Sam choked back a laugh and Dean glared at him. The ‘ _shut-up’_ went unsaid.

“You look like you’re about to have an aneurism.” Misha said, grinning.

“Dean, you have encountered a copy of yourself and your brother more than once. Surely this is not the strangest thing you’ve ever seen.” Castiel added. Sam and Misha both fucking snorted a chuckle.

 _No… but it’s definitely the hottest._ His brain supplied.

“Uhh… no. No definitely not. Just… never mind. How about we—“

A shrill ring cut him off and Sam picked up the cell and answered, lifting it to his ear.

“Hello….You sure?.... No, no, yeah I’m on it. See ya soon.” Sam hit end and stood up, shoving the phone into his front pocket.

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean asked. Everyone turned to Sam.

“Got a call from Gary Lindin. ‘Member that cop that helped us out from Oregon?” Sam offered.

“Yeah, yeah, uhh… the red-headed guy? Big belly.” Dean gestured in an arc over his stomach.

“Yeah, him. Says he thinks they’ve got a ghost in the station actually. Was wondering if we could look into it?” Sam said.

“Yeah, definitely. Let’s go.” Dean spoke way too eagerly. Even he could hear the unnecessary for enthusiasm.

“Dean… it’s only a ghost and Lindin knows what we do, so he’ll be there to help. I think it’s better if you stay here and keep up with the research.” Dean was tempted to whine on instinct. Jesus, being left here with Cas and Misha. He would die.

“Yeah, but c’mon Sammy. Ghosts can be tricky.” He rambled.

Sam squinted his eyes and so did Cas.

“Dean, I’m quite certain Sam’s skills are satisfactory for a simple ghost.” Cas gave him a puzzled, innocent look.

“Yeah but—“

“—Dean, you’ll be fine.” Sam said with a knowing smile. _That fuckin’ bastard._

“You mean, ‘ _I’ll be fine_ ’, right?” Misha said to Sam, flashing his stupid smile at Dean. _These fuckin’ comedians…_ Dean thought. Everyone was conspiring against him. Except Cas, who remained the oblivious fluffy angel in the corner, squinting so hard and cocking his head he’d probably hurt himself any minute.

“Oh my god, just leave already.” Dean huffed. Closing the book harder than necessary and starting on the next.

Sam practically bounced out of the room, all that gangly height looking smug.

With the younger brother off to pack, Dean smiled awkwardly at the remaining occupants.

“Well… back to research then. Get on it!” He barked and dropped his eyes to the book, preparing himself to glue them to the text until Sam’s return – even if it took several days.

**/\/\/\**

The awkward tension finally slackened to his immense relief. Sam was gone now and all three of them were surrounded by their own piles of books. Dean noticed that Misha would murmur to himself every so often when he was lost in a passage or trying to unravel the convoluted hokey language that some of these books were written in.

Dean was hunched over a book that had, oh, roughly a billion pages. It was ridiculous—the entire book was supposed to be about angels, and still, he could find hardly anything about grace and tracking grace or spells relating to grace.

“Ugghh!!!” He grunted in frustration, pulling attention to himself. “This fuckin’ sucks. I’m not finding anything. What about the twins? You guys find anything?”

“I never want to read another book again… and I love reading.” Misha said in a stretched voice.

“I haven’t found any spells that deal with tracking down an angel’s grace.” Cas said sadly. Misha and Dean shared a look.

“You’ll get it back.” Misha said to him.

“Well, only if we kill Metatron and so far we’re not having much success on that front.” Cas replied.

Misha looked to Cas, and then pointedly at Dean. “I promise, everything will work out.” The words were said so heavily that Dean filled with anxiety. He knew the real meaning behind that statement and he stared hard at Misha.

Cas looked between them, settling on Misha.

“Your… show and this universe are not identical, I’m sorry to say.” Castiel said.

“No, not identical. But trust me, some events are set.” Misha smiled to himself, lowering his head back into the book.

Dean shook his head in disbelief. With Misha back into the book, Dean let his gaze find it’s way to Cas. The blue eyes were already set on him.

A lot of uncertain emotions passed between them in a silent exchange. Dean blinked hard and tried to refocus on the stupid book he was trying to get through, hoping to find some obscure passage that would set everything right.

Three hours and several doses of caffeine later Dean became aware of the stiff pain in his neck and lower back. He arced back against he chair and his spine cracked. He groaned as he stretched, feeling his joints curse at him.

Cas had his head bent over two different volumes of the same series. He appeared to be comparing the two for whatever reason.

Misha was standing up from his spot on the floor. He’d spent more time reading on the floor than in a chair and Dean thought it was strange. Very granola and yoga-ish to sit there all cross-legged for hours. If Dean sat cross-legged on the floor for more than ten minutes, he’d probably get stuck.

“Want somethin’ to eat? I need a break anyway.” Misha asked, coming up to stand partly behind Dean who craned his neck back.

“Oh my god, yes. Burgers and pie, pretty please.” He requested eagerly with a charming smile. Misha laughed and Dean saw Cas shake his head slightly. "You won't get lost or anything will you?"

Misha chuffed at him. "No, I'm not an idiot. Keys?” Misha wiggled his fingers by Dean’s face.

“Sam took the car. You can take Cas’ pimp-mobile.”

“It is _not_ a pimp-mobile.” Cas said sharply. “I like my car.” He defended and tossed his keys a little too sharply but Dean caught them, placing them in Misha’s open hand.

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the strained muscle as Misha asked Cas if he wanted anything.

“You know you shouldn’t sit like that for so long.” Misha chastised, putting a hand where Dean’s had been and rubbing in deep strokes into his muscles. He moaned in relief as the cinching pain receded with the strong touch.

“Hmmm…” He murmured happily.

“See. Go sit on the floor or something. Mix it up.” Misha said, sinking his fingers higher, spreading them through the small hair at the back of his head.

_Oh fuck…_

Dean snapped his head up as reality hit him and he found Cas staring wide-eyed at the two of them. His face flushed hot and fast.

He couldn’t breathe and definitely didn’t say a word. Misha tugged once playfully at his hair and then pulled his hand away. He managed to look both awkward and amused.

“Uhh… I’ll be back.” He said and practically ran up the stairs and out the door. The heavy door clanged shut with a resounding thud and left Cas and him staring at each other. Cas was stuck in shock with his mouth hanging open. It would have looked funny... it didn't.

Dean tore his eyes away and looked down at the section he’d been reading as if nothing at all had just happened.

Dean waited. He didn’t know if Cas would be bold enough to ask about Misha fucking playing with Dean’s hair and rubbing his neck… _Oh God…_

Five minutes was all it took.

“The two of you seem close.” Cas said casually. Dean tensed but didn’t look up.

“Uhh.. yeah he’s alright.” Dean replied with a shrug.

“Hmm.” Came Cas’ reply. Dean frowned. _‘Hmm’_? Really? What the fuck did that mean?

Cas didn’t say anything more until Misha came back. The minute Misha made his way down into the library again, Cas spoke.

“I should have mentioned, your boyfriend is very worried about you.” Dean didn’t miss the frigidity in Cas’ tone.

Misha dropped the bags. “What?” He asked, stunned. “What do you mean?” Misha’s eyes flashed to Dean for a split-second. Cas narrowed his gaze.

 _Shit_ … This was getting so fucked up. _Get me the hell out of here!_

“Jensen, I believe his name is.” Cas continued. “He’s been praying to me, it comes in a little muffled travelling between the two worlds. He loves you _very_ much.” Cas spoke each word with emphasis and Dean felt himself getting supremely pissed off at Cas.

Misha, of course, was nearly chewing his lip right off.

“Don’t worry, Mish. We’ll get you home.” Dean said to redirect the conversation to more stable territory.

“What did you call me?” Misha lost the guilty frown and fixed Dean with a strange questioning look.

“ _Mish_? What? You don’t like it when people call you that?” He asked, unsure why the man looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Uhh.. no, I do. I mean. It’s fine.” He smiled funny, a little off. “I’ll go fix our food.. umm, get plates and stuff.” He grabbed the bags and disappeared towards the kitchen.

“You got something you wanna say?” Dean asked tersely the second Misha was out of earshot, pegging Cas with a cold stare.

“Nothing at all.” Cas slammed his book shut and walked towards Dean. He leaned over the table beside Dean and grabbed two more books from the pile in the center. Dean was getting angrier by the second.

“Ya’ know, I hope we do get your grace back. This one makes you smell funky.” He said rudely.

“Funny you should mention that Dean.” He said lightly, leaning closer. Cas sniffed right beside his head. “You smell different too. I wonder why?” The tone of Cas’ voice was so flat and stiff, the same tone he’d used when they’d first met.

Dean wouldn’t give him an inch though. If the fucker was jealous he should fucking say something! But no… Cas _never_ said anything. He never did anything. Always so goddamn stoic, like he had no feelings at all.

“New shampoo.” Dean bantered back, turning and smiling like a smug shit inches from Cas’ face. They stared each other down, a weird battle building between them.

A throat clearing brought their attention to Cas’ twin, standing with two plates in one hand and three beers in the other.

“I brought you a beer… I don’t know?” Misha shrugged and handed the cold bottle to the equally cold angel.

Cas took it but placed it on the table without a second glance. Dean was about done with this shit.

He scarfed his burger as fast as humanly possible without choking and grabbed his beer to go.

“I need some air.” He blurted, grabbed the keys and took off before anyone could say anything. He’d suffocate if he had to stay there any longer. He didn’t necessarily want to leave Cas and Misha alone together because Misha obviously didn’t have much of a filter and the poor guy wasn’t a fan favourite of Cas that’s for sure, but Dean had never wanted to be out of a room more. And that said at a lot, considering he’d been kidnapped and tortured more times than he could count.

**/\/\/\**

Misha watched Dean disappear out the door. He didn’t blame him, just wish he’d thought of taking off faster. It’s not like he could follow Dean now. Cas was already staring daggers at him. It was odd to be on the receiving end of such a hateful look from yourself. He wondered vaguely if he played Cas well enough to justify his true self.

“Cas?” He needed to ease the tension. _Bad._

“Yes?” The angel’s single word was snippy as fuck.

Misha let out a long exhale. “Dean’s gonna hate me for saying this…,” he began.

“I doubt that. He seems very fond of you.” Cas replied haughtily.

Misha sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. These two were absurd! No wonder nothing had ever happened between them. Misha had half a mind to trap them in a room together. Naked. With a bottle of KY and, like, eight bottles of wine or something.

“Ok listen… don’t think you’re fooling anyone here. I know you better than you might think. So let me just say this. You have to push him.”

“Push who?” Cas turned to him, suddenly intrigued.

“Who? Are you serious? _Dean!"_ _...You idiot._ Misha could only imagine how ridiculous it would be trying to play Pictionary with this guy.

Cas tilted his head and stared at Misha.

“I.. I don’t… umm..” All that sass now gone replaced with uncertain curiosity.

Misha went over to sit beside him. It was strange to think of Cas as this whole person, not a character—someone he would step into for a few hours a day—but a real individual with complex feelings and thoughts.

“He’ll never take that first step. It has to be you.” Misha said. “It was always going to be you that would take that leap. He needs that validation. He’s lost too much to put himself out there. He wants you, he loves you. Trust me—“

“—please stop.” Cas interrupted. His words tight and rough.

“What?”

“I know.” Cas’ voice was pained.

“You know and you haven’t said anything!?”

“What is or is not between Dean and myself is irrelevant.”

“Why do you think it’s irrelevant?” Misha asked, leaning closer.

“I believe it is what you humans call ‘bad timing’.” Cas said, giving him a sardonic smile.

“That’s a shitty excuse.” Misha retorted.

“Well if that is not sufficient, perhaps the fact that I can smell him all over you.” Cas turned and glared at him. It was kinda hot… Misha couldn’t help the tiny grin at the thought of actually having the possibility of making out with himself. He shoved that aside for now.

“It’s not what you think.” He answered. “That’s just misplaced… feelings.”

Cas refused to look at him again.

“I think we should get back to research and find a way to send you home.” Cas said.

“And what will you do when I’m gone?” Misha pestered.

“Read.” Cas’ shoved a book at him without looking. His tone sharp and biting.

Misha sighed and groaned, finally throwing the book open and searching its table of contents in hopes to narrow down to a more useful section of the eight-hundred page monstrosity.

Misha was only halfway through the first chapter he was reading when he couldn’t hold back his inquisitive nature any longer.

“Can you hear people’s thoughts?” He asked.

Cas slowly turned to raise his eyebrows. Misha waited.

Cas rolled his eyes. “If I want to.”

“Do you see thoughts or pictures or feelings or all of it?”

“It depends on what the person is thinking. Some things are concepts with only words and language; some are less articulate displaying only feelings or images, occasionally a mixture of both.” It was the longest string of words he’d heard Cas say. And without any snark whatsoever. Bravo angel.

“That would be fun… and uhh… helpful.” Misha smiled.

“Not always.” Cas replied and looked away. Something painful slipped behind his calm façade. Misha wanted to press, could only imagine some errant thoughts that Cas might have ever picked up from Dean. While he was sure there would be a lot of good things, there would also be a lot of negative crap too.

“Can you see through clothes?” Misha asked, unable to stop himself.

Cas glared at him now. “If you are not going to do research, perhaps you could go dig Dean out of whatever hole he’s found himself in and drag him back here so that I am not the only one trying to get you back to your… loved ones.”

 _Fuck._ Misha exhaled soberly. All the small bit of joy he was having now entirely squashed. Thanks for the bucket of cold water. _It’s not like I wasn’t already terrified of never seeing them again._

“But there’s no more cars. I don’t know where he is.” Misha said.

“He took the keys, but I never heard the car. He’s likely sitting outside being his normal self-loathing self.”

Misha got up and found himself fixated on Cas’ form. _His_ body and face, but a totally different person.

“Just one more question, when you first looked at me, you looked intrigued. Can I ask why?”

Cas angled his head to the side and up, meeting his stare. It seemed Cas had been ready to snip at him to leave until he saw the seriousness in Misha’s expression.

“I don’t know. I suppose it was strange to see myself.” He replied, but the statement came out more like a question, or a half-formed thought.

“What is it really?” Misha pressed.

“Your soul… it’s peculiar.” Cas explained calmly. What the hell did that mean?

“Well, that doesn’t sound good. Peculiar how?” He asked.

“It’s nothing. Every soul is different; recognizable in its own way. Yours is more different than the rest. It’s nothing comprehensible. I promise you, there is no cause for alarm.” Cas said.

“Huh. Okay.” He shrugged. File that under ‘ _I’m obviously as weird as everyone thinks I am.’_

Cas turned back to his reading and Misha ran up the stairs, heading outside.

**/\/\/\**

It was late afternoon and the sun was bright with the smallest ghosting of clouds over the sky that acted as a screen for the sun to backlight.

He found Dean laying on top of the hood of the pimp-mobile.

“You look pimpin’.” Misha said, smiling down at Dean.

“Don’t I though?” He quipped back, winking.

“Are you thinking about how your life is now a teenage high-school drama or is your brain simply filled with an ass-load of porn—pun intended.” Misha asked.

Dean laughed, shuffling over to the other side of the car making room for the new arrival.

Misha climbed up and leaned back, feeling the filtered sun settle over him. It felt so incredibly good.

Misha looked over to his right at Dean, lifting his eyebrows.

“I wish it was porn.” Dean finally said. Misha chuckled in reply.

Dean’s features hardened, his eyes turning dark. “You being here is fucking everything up.”

That was a hit to the stomach he didn’t need right now, but he understood where Dean was coming from.

“I’m not sorry for that.” He said. “I think me being here is just what the doctor ordered.”

Dean sat up and stared down at him. “I’m serious Mish. You’re making me want shit that I can’t have. I don’t care what you say about the future or what you think is _‘supposed’_ to happen. Cas doesn’t know how to… he never… _fuck_ , never mind.” Dean wiped a hand over his face.

“This morning I thought you were him.” Dean said. “You were so goddamned still you looked like Cas when he’d died. It fucking terrified me.” He breathed a few rough breaths. Misha was about to say something when Dean continued. “I can’t… If I do something… and Cas and I, ya’ know. And then he dies. I won’t be able to handle that. Look at the things I’ve done to keep Sam with me. I don’t need two unhealthy relationships in my life. It’s bad enough with the one I’ve got.” He threw his hands up.

“Don’t be so dramatic. Everyone takes that risk.” He said seriously, grabbing Dean’s arm to keep his attention.

“You live a rough life, granted, but everyone who loves someone worries about losing them. Worries about how horrible it would be to lose them and find a way to live after that. Not knowing how you would define yourself without them. But Dean, you are in love with an angel for chrissakes’! It takes a lot more than a damn heart attack or car accident to take him out.”

Dean stared down at him, and then looked at the grip around his arm.

“We have a lot more things wanting to kill us—and they know how to do it.” Dean added.

Misha turned away and looked up at the bright overcast sky.

“It’s worth it.” Was all he said. Misha was never more sure of anything. Even if the two worlds were not identical. Maybe they would all die (the thought twisted something inside him) but if they let themselves make their time worth more than being the selfless hero it would better. He knew that, right down into his weirdo soul.

Somewhere during the tide of his thoughts he had let his eyes slip closed. He opened them now and found Dean staring down at him, much closer than before.

He felt Dean’s hand trickle lightly down his arm, a brush of fingers over the fabric of the Henley he’d stolen from Dean’s room.

“I hate you.” Dean said. His green eyes seemed darker with the sun behind him.

“No you don’t.” Misha smiled up at him.

Dean’s mouth pulled into a tight line, strained and tense on the edge of his warring feelings and trepidations.

Without warning he descended down over Misha, their lips pushing together in a warm kiss. There was the briefest of humid breath as Dean’s mouth opened him up, a single swipe of a tongue before it was gone and the sun was once again blinding against his eyelids.

Misha’s breath was considerably faster paced now. He opened his eyes and looked up at Dean who’d resumed staring off at nothing, away from him.

“We should go back inside.” Misha said, getting up off the car.

Dean turned to him with wide eyes. “Awesome.” He said sarcastically.

**/\/\/\**

The second night approached faster than Dean expected. Heading back into the library wasn’t nearly as painful as he thought it would be. The reentry had its moment, Cas turned and gave him a funny look – something tempered that he couldn’t distinguish. But the weirdest occurrence was the small smile that Cas gave Misha—all the ire now gone and Dean was terrified as to what had happened during his absence, but given that the tension was gone, he didn’t want to dwell on the reason.

Sam had called to give in a report, he was nearly halfway there, planning to stop for a couple hours rest in the next town. Dean didn’t miss the chirpy tone when he’d asked how everything was going. Dean hung up on him, as he rightly deserved.

Misha was sitting at the far end of the big table with his chin resting on his hands. His eyes lazily moving across the page. Dean ventured he would be asleep soon.

Cas was powering along, sitting across from Dean. They’d shared a quick look every so often.

Ten minutes later and Misha’s head was turned to the side, eyes closed and breathing evenly.

Dean found himself staring at him, the relaxed drop in his normally animated features. When he finally pulled his eyes away, Cas was watching him with interest. No anger or jealously, but something else. A longing maybe, or a question that never received an answer.

“You want coffee?” Dean whispered.

“You should get some sleep.” Cas replied instead.

Dean looked at his watch, it was just shy of midnight so he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

Cas looked down in the direction of his arm where the Mark was, and then back up to meet his eyes. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Do you want coffee or not?” He repeated as he stood.

Cas copied his actions and began walking towards the kitchen, Dean followed. More alone time with Cas… _super._

They were silent all the way into the kitchen, even as Dean set up the coffee machine with more water and ground up beans. The smell alone used to wake him up—now he was immune to it.

Dean bent forward over the metal table in the center, leaning on his elbows and letting the exhaustion of his life take over for a small moment in time.

Cas watched him from by the entrance of the hallway.

“Dean, can I ask you something?” Dean rubbed a hand over his eyebrows, massaging the sudden headache that had sprouted up.

“Sure.”

“Do you think our world, this reality, will ever reach a stable plateau? That, maybe, one day, the chaos will cease?” He asked, thoughtful.

Dean looked over at him, letting his eyes roam over this angel, this person, that he’d known for years and still hadn’t fully figured out yet.

“God, I hope so.” Dean replied vehemently. The sound of the coffee machine dribbling and drabbling the only backdrop to their conversation.

“Me too.” The two words from the angel’s mouth were weighted. A solid thing in the room between them. Like the table that separated them.

When the coffee was ready, he poured some into the chipped one for himself, and some into the blue one for Cas.

He walked to the entrance with both in hand, passing the blue one to Cas as he got close enough.

“Here.” He said.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Back at the table, he drank it down but the coffee could have been fucking Nyquil’ for all it was helping. He was getting drowsier by the second. Misha was still conked out at the end of the wood table.

Cas, of course, didn’t seem to have changed. Endless battery; chugging along. Dean hated it. Something about him not sleeping bothered Dean. He loved that Cas was an angel, he really did. But sometimes, that _otherness_ about him made Dean realize how different they really were. Would Cas ever really feel things the same way?

Around one-thirty he was packing it in. He closed the book on dimensions and told Cas he was done for the night.

He thought about leaving Misha where he was but he’d be horribly sore in the morning. Dean walked around to where he was slumped over the table and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking lightly and leaning down closer.

“Hey.” He said in a low voice. “You shouldn’t sit like that for so long, ya know.” He said teasingly as Misha’s eyes opened groggily.

Mish smiled lazily, making a soft sleepy noise in his throat.

“C’mon, it’s late.” He said pulling on his arm.

Misha pushed himself up from the table as though he weighed more than he did. He moved past Dean and stumbled out of the room in the direction of the bedrooms.

Dean walked around to Cas’ side of the table. He clapped a hand on his shoulder and gripped it hard once and then forced himself to let go.

“Goodnight Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.” Cas’ head tipped back the smallest amount towards him.

Dean lingered for a moment, trapped in the temptation to step past that line, but he didn’t. He turned towards the hall and forced himself to walk away.

**/\/\/\**

Outside his room he paused, wondering if his room would be empty or not, not sure what possibility he was hoping for. He pushed open the door and found Misha tucked under the covers, already asleep.

He smiled at the image and the audacity of him choosing to sleep in Dean’s bed with Cas not too far away.

Dean undressed leaving his grey boxer briefs on to stave off any unwarranted middle of the night touching.

He slipped under the covers and slid over to the other warm body in his bed. Wrapping an arm around Misha’s waist and breathing close to his neck.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” He whispered.

“Mmm.” Misha hummed vaguely, half asleep.

“You’re making things really hard for me you know.” Dean said, finding it difficult to fight Misha’s persistence, even when he was passively doing it—like in his goddamn sleep.

Misha pushed back into his space, rubbing against him. “Hmm..hards’ good.” He mumbled.

Dean kissed his neck, huffing a laugh against his skin.

“Oh go back to sleep already.” He said harshly but the affection came through with undeniable clarity.

Misha was asleep less than thirty seconds later and Dean was left there stuck inside his own head until exhaustion took over. He felt bad having Misha in his bed with Cas down the hall and around the corner but a part of him wanted to test the breaking point of their relationship. See how far it would go until one of them snapped. It was horrible, he knew that, but maybe doing something wrong would force him to do something right.

Fuck, Misha was right, he was an asshole.

But in fairness, that wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t find it in himself to stay away. The more time he spent with Misha, the more he felt drawn to him, as he was. The insufferable, cheeky, gorgeous actor who pulled him out of his comfort zone. In a weird balance, Misha also relaxed something in him. Made him feel loose and weightless, and it was great. He wanted more of that. Dean realized, with a funny sort of sadness that he wanted more of Misha. Just him, just as he was.

Soon the heat from Misha’s sleeping form sunk into his bones and lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do plan on jumping back to see what Jensen is up to. And also, because this story kind of came out of nowhere, I'm not totally sure how well it's going to play out tbh. I know the ending and I have a few scenes stashed up my sleeve but I guarantee there will be inconsistencies that I miss so I hope it's not too bad :P <3


	5. Oh Crap... I'm in love with you. Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Misha find themselves enamored with each other and unable to deny the need. Dean has a tense moment with Castiel where truths are revealed and regrets acknowledged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played around with this chapter a lot and I know sometimes that is a terrible thing to do. I hope I didn't ruin it or anything. :-S

 

Sam’s call woke him up the next morning with a sudden blast of unwanted sound.

Dean’s eyes peeked open, mildly disoriented, and he blindly grappled at his nightstand, smacking at things until he found the cool hard feel of his phone. The incessant ringing seemed to get louder with each passing second.

“Oh my god… shut that fucking thing up.” Misha groaned beside him.

“Sshhush!” Dean kicked him under the blankets.

“Hey Sam.” Dean said cooly at the same time Misha grumbled an ‘ _ow’_ and moved away from Dean’s legs. Dean rolled his eyes at efforts wasted.

“Are you in bed?” Sam asked with shrewd skepticism.

“No, why?”

“Liar.” Sam jibed with a chuckle. “Anyway, So I got here a couple hours ago and already made my way to the station. Lindin’s got himself a _girlfriend_!” He said, teasing the word. “It’s funny. He’s such a goof around her, totally hilarious to watch.” Dean could hear the smile in his brother’s voice.

“Oh yeah, good for him. He’s a great guy.”

“Yeah, for sure. So, they _definitely_ have a ghost thing going on. EMF was goin’ nuts! We started research to try and find out who it could be. But fuck… there're a lot of options, ya’ know?” Sam inhaled tiredly. “People that kicked it at the station, people that died on someone’s watch and ended up attaching themselves to that person, or it could be a friggin’ loved one of one of the cops whose carrying around some stupid heirloom or whatever. Anyway, what I’m saying is, it could be a couple days.” Sam concluded.

“Well, we’re not making much progress here either. There’s not much about an angel’s grace and even less with spells that involve them. The only one we even know of got the angel’s chucked out of heaven so I’m a little weary about testing anything we’re not one-hundred-percent clear on.”

“What about the spell that Balthazar used to send us there? I can’t believe I didn’t ask Cas about it when he showed up yesterday.” Sam puffed out a breath at the oversight.

“It’s a dead-end anyway.” Dean reassured. “I asked Cas about that already and he said it was too risky to send him back with a different spell than what sent him here; he could end up somewhere else completely. It’s too tricky —especially because we don’t know what the hell they did to begin with. Friggin’ actors, man.” Dean chided.

“Hey!” Misha blurted in sharp offense and Dean slapped a hand over his mouth hoping Sam missed that.

“Uhh… Dean?” Sam’s tone was insinuating with the tonal equivalent of a damn swagger.

“Shut it.” Dean snapped.

Sam barked a laugh and said he would check in later. Dean ended the call and shifted to stare down at a pillow-lined face. _This_ face framed by _his_ bed was a sight he could get used to.

Misha managed to smile beneath his palm.

Dean slid his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. “Good morning.” He said, drawing back.

“Morning.” Misha replied with radiating warmth, shifting further underneath Dean making happy content noises.

Dean sighed against the top of his shoulder. “You really need to be in your own room.” His voice sounded drained of intent; a whimper of already acknowledged defeat.

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here last night but it felt wrong not too. I know that sounds ridiculous and illogical, but there it is.” Misha’s hands spread out over his back, sliding over his skin, massaging it in circular motions, digging into the muscle in exactly the right places that he needed.

Every touch was easy and casual; strangely familiar. Dean figured it must be part of the reason that they both were shit-terrible at denying this. It felt like it was already something, that it had been something for a long time.

In some ways, Dean supposed it was.

What with himself and Cas always angling in response to one another, shifting closer and then away. Never truly meeting in the middle. And then, of course, Misha and the flashy actor look-alike were actually a thing. Maybe the whole thing wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

“I don’t think it’s illogical at all.” He concluded gruffly, and snorted. “Doesn’t mean it’s right though.” Dean said before dropping back onto his side of the bed, setting his eyes on the ceiling.

Misha slid a leg over his hips and straddled him, pushing the blankets behind them.

“It feels exactly right…” Misha replied in a serious husky, sleep-roughened voice.

He leaned down and kissed Dean with a practiced casual peck. Dean ached for that constant familiarity of touch. Something that Misha had with Jensen that Dean had never really had with anyone. The routine he’d had with Lisa had been… lacking, to say the least.

Dean grabbed Misha’s thighs, letting the subject fall away. He was glad that Misha’d kept his boxers—

“Hey, did you steal my underwear?” He asked, looking at the black Hanes boxer-briefs of which he had hardly any, not having gone shopping lately.

“Well, what did you expect?! I’m not gonna wear the same clothes every day. I’m not actually Cas, ya know.” He shot back.

“You get that I’m poor right? You better not steal all my clothes when you leave.” Dean joked, shoving his hands under the front fabric over Misha’s muscular thighs.

He glanced up when Misha didn’t say anything back. There was a sad, pitiful look on his face.

“Oh god, don’t look at me like that.” Dean said, reaching up to pinch his nipple to banish the annoying look on his face. It sort of worked, but he forgot that Misha enjoyed a bit rougher touch, especially there.

“ _Ahh..hmmm!_ Sorry! I didn’t mean to. I just wish I could help… I have more money than I need.” He replied, wriggling a bit from Dean’s fingers. Misha leaned forward and planted his hands on Dean’s chest.

“I don’t need help and I’m not taking your damn money.” Dean bit back, pinching his nipple harder causing Misha to let out an unwitting moan of pleasure. Not to be distracted easily, Mish whacked his hand away. Dean was left with few options and decided to really kill the conversation by utilizing some recently acquired information.

He gave Misha a look promising imminent mischief, pausing theatrically before his attack. Misha’s eyes gleamed and he bit his lip waiting for it eagerly. For a brief moment, Dean felt young again.

He sprang into action and clawed lightly at Misha’s sides, moving his fingers in quick grasps of the skin. The instant the playing started, Misha bit his lip and tried not to laugh. He scrambled to fly off of the bed but Dean attacked, restraining him easily at the opposite end. A bark of laughter erupted out of Misha and that set the train of laughter rippling helplessly out of him.

Misha tried hard not to give in completely, still struggling and biting his lips, but his face was scrunched up into an elated smile and he was soon laughing with silent intensity; his body shaking and panting for breath.

Dean froze without warning. His hands fell and he stared.

He’d never seen Cas laugh that way. Fuck, he’d never seen Cas anywhere close to that happy. Dean hadn’t even seen Mish laugh that way until right this second.

Misha had become still, his expression turning serious on a dime.

“Are you okay?” Misha asked, a little short of breath.

“Uhh.. yeah. Sorry.” Dean answered, moving off to the side. “Had a moment there.”

He sat back near the pillows and stared down at his hands. He looked around at the rumpled blankets, at Misha’s legs beside him with his bare feet near the pillow. God, he was right here. Him, and yet not him. In Dean’s bed. He looked at Misha and wasn’t sure what he was showing.

**/\/\/\**

Dean was having an aneurysm. _Yup._ Definitely losing it, Misha thought, as he watched Dean struggle inside his own head for a few moments, his eyes blank and unseeing.

Misha poked the side of Dean’s hip with his big toe. “Hey you.” He badgered.

“Hmm.” Dean hummed in ascent, still spacey.

“Don’t freak out.” Misha crawled over to him. He straddled his lap again and pulled Dean’s face closer, forcing his stare up. With reluctance, Dean broke out of his trance.

“What are we doing?” Dean asked, sounding lost.

“I don’t know.” Misha said in a whisper as he bent down closer. He was going on instinct now.

Their eyes found each other before they kissed. It was like coming home, that familiar warmth that settles in. The immensity of that feeling settled over him and he wondered for the umpteenth time how he could fall so easily for Dean. Because it wasn’t just the shade of green in those eyes or the straight line of his nose, it was _everything_.

It was the way Dean called him Mish in that deeper timbre. It was the way he touched and relayed whole conversations with a single look. It was the way Dean’s eyes would wander over to Misha when Dean thought he wouldn’t notice. It was the way Dean listened to him, even when he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.

Misha pulled in the scent of Dean in a breath and kissed him the way he would kiss Jensen, showing every ounce of how he felt in the way he moved, the slow sweep of his tongue inside his mouth, sliding with Dean’s; warm and wet. He could feel Dean getting hard beneath him. The rigid length pushed up just behind his sac. The worn boxer-briefs didn’t offer much of a barrier between them.

Misha _should_ care that Cas was just down the hall. He _should_ care that Jensen was in another world worried about him. And Vicki too, he was sure, or maybe Jensen and Jared had lied to her. There were a lot of things he should be doing or thinking other than this. But the sound of Dean letting go underneath him, breathing rough, grinding up into him, it clouded over everything like a fog, leaving only them.

“Crap.” Misha blurted against Dean’s slick mouth.

“What?” Dean grumbled unhappily.

“I think I’m falling in love with you. Again.” Misha reflected, saying the words out loud. Really feeling the truth in them. He was so screwed…

Dean blushed. Damn, that was adorable.

“Uhhmm… thanks.” He shrugged and smiled in that charming way of his.

Misha laughed and shook his head. “Yeah sorry, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He chuckled, running his fingers down Dean’s neck, reaching around to massage the back where he knew it always got sore.

“A little… I’m not complaining.” Dean beamed and pulled him down for a kiss. It was softer, measured, and with greater intent than the aimless making out from before.

Suddenly Dean blinked and pulled away. He wouldn’t meet Misha’s eyes and he became all shifty and fidgety.

“Oh for the love of God, what now?” Misha grabbed his face and forced Dean to look at him.

“You may not be alone in that.” He spoke the words so low it emphasized the gravel in his voice.

Misha surged forward and met spit-moistened lips with urgency, pushing his tongue inside and moving his lower half in a hard press against Dean’s cock, forcing a moan from both of them.

The confession shifted something between them and Misha felt his heart seize tight with uncomfortable strain. His hands roamed over Dean’s chest and his sides, pushing under him to the back and running up his spine. He turned his head and deepened the kiss, letting Dean’s tongue into his mouth where he slid alongside it and sucked on it.

Dean’s hands moved to Misha’s lower back, pushing down behind the waistband of the boxers and grabbing his ass. He used the grab on Misha's ass as leverage to shove him down in a hard, rough grind that had Dean’s hip bones poking into the inside of his thighs.

Dean panted, pulling away from his mouth with a reluctant nip of his bottom lip.

“Take these off.” Dean demanded, his eyes filled with blazing heat.

Misha stood up and tore them off down his legs so quick he very nearly fell over but mostly because Dean was jostling the mattress getting his own boxers off.

“Damn… I went to bed with these on for a reason.” Dean reflected with an unapologetic grin, throwing the garment somewhere in the room.

Before Misha could settle back down, Dean asked him to stay just like that; standing over him, legs on either side of Dean’s hips.

Dean ran his rough hands up Misha’s shins, around to the backs of his knees where he was ticklish. Dean smirked when his one knee buckled reflexively.

“Hmm…” His eyelids fluttered as Dean scraped blunt nails down his calves.  Then… “Oh, God,” a hand was moving up his thigh, turning to the inside.

Misha’s cock was now parallel with the floor, waiting for touch.

Dean grinned up at him, those green eyes looking through his lashes. Fuck he was so hot. Misha licked his lips waiting for the inevitable careen into bliss. His body hard, pulled tight, his leg muscles flexing.

And then Dean’s hand curled around him, a warm weight encircling him, stroking hot around his erection. His body jerked forward and his knee gave out again but he reset his stance.

“Uhh, fuck…” His head tipped back. “I’m gonna fall on you any minute.” He breathed.

Dean exhaled a laugh and dropped his hand, leaning back against the pillows.

“Come down right here.” He said running a hand over his chest, shifting so that his shoulders were up more on the pillow. Misha exhaled in delighted anticipation. He knew that position.

He set himself down over Dean’s chest, his thighs spread and knees into the space inside Dean’s arms and his cock planted right in front of Dean’s mouth.

Misha cupped his face, running a thumb over his mouth. “I fucking love your mouth.”

“You’ve never had _my_ mouth.” Dean corrected, tugging his sac as he shifted closer.

“Hmm… no, I guess not.” He smiled, his grin droopy with growing arousal.

Dean reached around and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer. Misha tensed further, coiling up in his groin as he waited for that first touch of a warm wet tight slick mouth. _Fuck…_

Dean closed his mouth around the head and sucked back, Misha half moaned and half laughed in elation.

His eyes fell down to watch and he chewed his lip as Dean slicked down over him, green eyes trained up. It was a sight that never ceased to turn him on like nothing else.

The first full suck and drawback and he smiled and grabbed at Dean’s head.

“Oh Lord in Heaven!” He exulted and Dean looked up at him angrily and grazed his teeth over his length in a threatening motion.

“Sorry… couldn’t help myself.” He said, scratching his nails on Dean’s scalp. Misha let Dean get acquainted with him; slow sucks, a tongue licking over the tip, a hand caressing below and on the insides of his thighs, hands grabbing his ass. It was a buffet of below the belt pleasure and he reveled in watching Dean fill his mouth.

The thought suddenly occurred to him… Dean has _definitely_ done this before. Misha filed that away for further discussion and it didn’t escape his notice that something about it bothered him. His right hand slid to the back of Dean’s head.

“You… _ahhh_ … want me to hold… your head?” He spoke through the up and down of pleasure that passed with each stroke of Dean’s warm mouth.

“Mmm-hmm.” Dean mumbled, his voice vibrating around Misha who groaned his approval. He felt the weight of Dean’s head settle back into his hand and he took control; keeping his hand in place and pushing his hips gently forward, again and again.

Maybe it was habits long formed or some weird parallel universe quirk but they moved together easily, exactly like he and Jensen did. Dean letting Misha thrust into his mouth, keeping it wide enough so that he could go deep enough every so often. And occasionally closing around him so tight he would buck uncontrollably with only Dean’s hand on his stomach to hold him at bay. Misha’s skin flushed and the exertion caused droplets of sweat to form at the nape of his neck and in the line of hair on his forehead.

His breath came harsher, faster, struggling to intake enough as Dean took it all. “Fuck… fuckfuckfuck..” Misha panted, gripping harder at the back of Dean’s head. His other hand moved quickly to Dean’s face, tracing a finger over his cheek, rubbing the length of his jaw and down the side of his throat. Thumbing along the underside of his own cock to feel Dean’s wet, arousal-thickened lips stretched around him.

He felt a trickle of sweat bead down the side of his face. HIs hips rocked faster in short bursts, his breath coming out on a moan at every exhale, and a stuttered string of air on the inhale. He must have gotten a little too loud because he heard Dean’s voice rumble over him, trying to speak around his cock.

“How bad is it that I know exactly what you’re saying?” He panted, looking down at Dean with a wicked grin, his tongue coming out to lick his lips and Dean’s eyelids fluttered and a muffled moan came out of him, riding right into Misha’s shaft and his balls pulled tight against his body. His thighs flexed and he felt Dean reach around and dig his fingers into the meat of his ass.

“ _Fuuckk…_ ” He growled, going deeper and Dean moaned in protest but he knew it wasn’t the thrust he was referring to.

“I’m trying to be quiet… but fuuuuckk! S _oooo_ goddamn good..” He whimpered.

His hips canted forward with increasing irregularity and he loved the sound of Dean sucking back air as he pulled out. Dean’s cheeks were tinged red, his lips and much of the area around his mouth slick with spit and precum. The strain of deeper fucks had caused tears to form at his eyes and Misha brushed a thumb over his skin to wipe them away.

Dean looked up at him and the arousal soaked atmosphere crashed into something far heavier; his throat burned and his movements slowed. Dean’s mouth sucked tighter and harder, more sensually. Misha’s fingers caressed his face: his eyelids, his eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, sliding over freckles, touching an unfamiliar scar. His thumb slicked over Dean’s lower lip and pushed it into his mouth, slipping along the underside of his cock. He wanted to be inside Dean, everywhere, all of him… filling him up and watching him come undone.

“Oh.. god..ahhh... _hhh_ …fuck.” He sucked his own lip into his mouth. His body throbbed with waves of need as he stared down into those familiar green eyes.

The hand on his stomach effortlessly controlled his erratic too-deep movements, but the one on his ass was currently slipping between the crease—

“D-don’t... do that. I.. _fuck.._ I can’t… control myself if you do that.” The words slipped out as mostly air.

Dean sucked back and off, pushing against Misha’s hand behind his head. Dean drew in a lungful of air through his mouth, and snaked his tongue out to press flat against the head. He kissed the tip almost chastely causing Misha to chuckle a deep, throaty laugh.

Dean’s finger slid closer and Misha clenched his cheeks in response. “You’re going to choke yourself…” he warned playfully. Dean smiled and pushed against his stomach.

“I got you.” He assured, licking some of the excess of moisture from his mouth. Dean’s lips parted to take him in and then with a pensive blink he pulled back and said, “try not to scream or anything, you’re so friggin’ loud!”

“Hmmm.. but you love it though right?”

Dean smirked and then reached up and stuck his finger into Misha’s mouth. Misha loosely sucked and licked the briny skin. And then it was gone.

The second his blue stare dropped back to its favourite sight, Dean was already opening to take him in. The previous glisten on his cock had cooled in the air and the heat of Dean’s mouth had him crying out at the first warm sensation. Dean hummed and exhaled through his nose—it was the best exasperated sigh he’d ever felt. To be honest, Misha wasn’t trying to be quiet at all.

He held Dean’s head and reached out with his other hand to brace himself on the headboard, it forced Dean’s head a little further back and his dick slid deeper in response. They both let out a guttural strained sound of near release.

And _fuck_ … and then there was a finger pushing against him.

“Oohh… fuuu—ck“ Dean’s hand pushed on his stomach before it moved lower to get better purchase at his shuddering hips, dropping in quick shallow downward thrusts against Dean’s tongue and mouth.

“ _Dean…”_ Misha said affectionately, sudden tension aching wild through his chest. His fingers dug against Dean’s skull, wanting to hold him tighter in the only way he could in this position. He felt Dean’s head push back into his palm. The finger that had been pushing and sliding, making Misha crazy, entered into him. He felt the steady hold of Dean’s hand on his hip as his weight sunk lower, his cock going down all the way into Dean’s mouth and hitting the back of his throat.

Misha barked out a sudden raspy sound and Dean flinched below him trying to accommodate. His hand was gripping the top of the headboard so hard he thought he would tear the wood in half from erotic superhuman strength, but instead, he used his shaking arm to hoist himself up. Dean took in a needed breath and it sounded wet and so fucking sexy.

Misha couldn’t stop the desperate sounds that flew from his mouth, roughened by the dryness of his throat. Dean had started fingering him in earnest, loosening his press against Misha’s hip and allowing his dick to slide back down into his throat.

“Deaaann.. fuck… oh my god…ohh…” It seemed Dean no longer cared about the sounds Misha was making, now making muffled, rumbling sounds of his own. Misha could feel Dean grinding up into the air, fucking nothing at all in the height of his arousal from pleasuring him so goddamn thoroughly.

Misha lost total control as his senses filled with the smell of sweat and skin and sex, the wet sound of Dean’s lips, and the subtle gasp as he breathed around him. Misha’s eyes lost focus, every single muscle in his body pulled tight and hard, shaking with intensity. Dean’s finger drove into him faster and faster and Misha’s hand nearly slipped off the headboard. Fuck he wanted to scream…

“Close… fuck… d— _ahh_ … do you want...mmm.” He found Dean’s eyes by arcing his body to look down at him. They were nearly black. “… Shit… so hot… I’m gonna cum. Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum.” He said, rubbing the back of Dean’s neck, now fully set into the pillow. Not needing his support anymore, Misha fingered along Dean’s mouth, his dick halfway in.

Dean blinked and dipped his head in approval, his movements loose and drugged with arousal.

“Don’t move.” Misha requested. He didn’t know why. With Jensen, they would continue the wild frantic thrust, suck, finger, moan until they were both shaking and him spilling down Jensen’s throat, or vice versa. But this time…

This time he didn’t want anything to drag his attention away from that moment at the crest of release.

Dean’s heated stare was set on him, watching in rapture, his pupils pushing away most of the green.

“Okay?” Misha asked and Dean managed to turn up the heat in his stare even more causing Misha to grunt and whimper in the same breath. He cupped under Dean’s chin with his palm, holding him still and sank his hips lower, a little deeper. Dean wiggled his finger with a smile in his eyes—

“Ss-stop…” Misha said through his teeth, trying not to grin back.

All play ceased as their eyes met again. Dean sealed his lips tighter, his whole soft mouth eroding every other sensation in Misha’s body and by not moving he was able to feel every nuance of that wet hot space.

They held each other still, Misha’s stare hooked on Dean and then it was just them; Misha drowning into him with raw familiarity. The world seemed to stop moving when they did. His heart surged into a rapid pace, hammering against his sternum… _love you, love you_ …and the pressure built in his groin at the base of his shaft, his balls hard and flush against his body. They both blinked and watched each other and then it hit…

Misha’s vision blurred at the first pulse of his release, Dean held him still as the first spurt of come shot into his mouth followed quickly by more and more… and fuck… he was coming so hard. _Shit.._ surge after surge of pleasure riding through his shaft and pulling his balls tight and the sight of Dean’s eyes wide and the feel of his throat swallowing against his hand under his chin… everything.

 _Fuck_.

“I love you… fuck I love you.” He panted, suddenly caressing Dean’s face with eager hands, his shaking legs somehow managing to hold him up.

He pulled out of Dean’s mouth and grabbed his face and crashed their mouths together in a resurgence of heat even as the shuddering of pleasure from his release still coursed through him. Last bits of come leaking out onto Dean’s chest.

Dean was breathing hard, struggling for consistent breath after everything.

“How do I love you?” Misha blurted against Dean’s mouth, his heart still beating hard and frantic like an oncoming heart attack. He realized in a flash that he was panicking… really panicking. Because Dean wasn’t Jensen, and Misha didn’t belong here.

Dean kissed him hard, the taste of himself in Dean’s mouth was so good. Felt perfect. Somehow it eased his rampant heart.

“Mish… let me…” Dean’s arousal-thick voice trailed off and he finished the sentence with the press of his hot hard cock against Misha’s ass.

“No… no no. I don’t want to—“

“—I _have_ done that before… it’s not like Cas would be my first… no matter which way we went.” He said, looking up into Misha’s eyes. “I don’t just want to fuck you, Mish… I _want_ you… fuck. I just want you. Right now. Be with me. Please.”

Misha held his face and pressed a firm kiss against his mouth. Long painful sensations tore through him at the sound of Dean’s plea. He wanted to give in like nothing else. But some gut-feeling wouldn’t let him. He didn’t really know why, only that Dean and Cas needed something for them. He couldn’t be selfish.

“I can’t. I promise you’ll thank me one day.” He said softly, starting to trail kisses down Dean’s throat only to be roughly hauled back up by Dean’s hands bolstering his jaw in a firm grasp.

“You’re right… I love Cas. You know that… but _fuck_ … you.” Dean shook beneath him, his breath stuttering unevenly. “I love you too… however fucking insane that sounds.”

“Especially considering I’ve only known you a total of less than three days.” He rambled on.

“Please.” Dean rubbed against him, the hot length sliding over sensitive areas.

“Dean…” Misha protested. “I’m not giving in on this. I _can_ be selfish sometimes, but not about this.”

Before Dean could argue back, Misha palmed his mouth and shut him up.

“Now, are you going to let me swallow you down or would you rather stay hard and uncomfortable?” He asked in a very formal polite tone.

Dean groaned beneath his palm and pushed his hips up helplessly.

“That’s what I thought.” Misha leaned down and kissed the back of his hand over Dean’s mouth, a gleam in his eyes as he stretched down and kept his hand in place—remembering a scene that he and Jensen had done back at the end of season four. Oh god… he remembered getting hard at the time and being superbly grateful for a forgiving outfit.

He teased Dean with soft, barely there licks, up and down the shaft until Dean was fully hard again, having lost some of his heavy girth during their small banter.

Dean’s legs spread and knees bent up and Misha wrapped his lips around the tip. It was warm and soft against his tongue. He let the smooth feel of Dean’s cock slide over his tongue and down as far as he could go with his wetted lips hugging the shaft.

In lieu of sex, Misha gave it everything he had. All the moves he had stashed in his arsenal, he unleashed now, one after the other in uneven patterns, never letting Dean get used to any one action.

He twirled his tongue around and then flattened it along the underside. Moved down until he had to forcibly hold back the urge to breathe as his airway was cutoff. He sucked hard and slow in the best imitation of making love with his mouth that he could, and judging by Dean’s groaning whimpers and sobs, he was losing it fast.

Dean’s legs moved restlessly, stretching back wider, his heels shifting back like he was subtly asking for something else. Misha smiled around his cock, his teeth sliding lightly along the hard intrusion in his mouth.

Dean rammed up into him unexpectantly; shouting loud, his hand grabbing at Misha’s head and pushing him down. Misha stilled and let him fuck into his mouth knowing he was done.

Dean’s erection jerked hard and started filling his mouth fast pumps. Misha didn’t have time to swallow so he just held it. Some leaked out the corner of his mouth and Dean sounded like he was sobbing with each flash of release. Feeling the last bit of it join the rest Misha sucked off and swallowed everything, or at least whatever hadn’t slipped down his chin.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and pressed a kiss right into the heady scented, sensitive weights below Dean’s now sated cock. Dean shuddered.

“Ahh… hsss… too much, too much.” He inhaled sharply, trying to push Misha’s head away in a barely there lazy brush of his hand.

Misha licked the length once earning another shake before he ceased.

If he didn’t know any better he would say Dean was passed out, except for the goofy, lazy post-sex grin he was sporting that Misha loved.  

Dean grumbled a stream of incoherent sounds, seemingly meant to be.

“Was that your equivalent of someone smashing all they keys on a keyboard?” Misha asked, delighted at the reaction.

Dean nodded drunkenly. “Hmmm…”

“I like it.”

“Aagghhk..” Dean groaned stronger now, eyes opening. “I really… really, really, _really_ , _really_ don’t want to leave this room.”

They both winced, icily tossed back into reality.

“We were loud huh?” Misha asked, his lips straining in a tight line. He sat back on his heels.

“Oh my god yes. I think Sam heard us five states over.”

“I’m so fucked…” Dean whimpered. “I _smell_ like fuck.” He added in observation and Misha laughed even though it wasn’t meant to be funny.

“I’m sorry.” He said immediately after.

“Don’t be. I don’t regret it.” Dean moved towards him, kneeling on the bed. He cupped Misha’s face and kissed him hard on the mouth on then on the forehead.

“You might once you leave this room and get smited. Or smote? Smitted?” He scrunched one side of his face and looked up at Dean, puzzled.

“Smote.” Dean nodded seriously, straight-faced, and then they erupted in laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“If I get _smoted_ , I’m going to haunt your sexy ass.” He said, smacking Misha’s bare ass as he got up from the bed.

“Yeah, cause that sound isn’t obvious at all.” Misha contested, tripping over clothes to try and get to the dresser.

“Oh I’m pretty sure, ‘ _Deeaaann.. fuck… yeah’_ is worse.” He said, imitating Misha in a breathless pitched voice.

“I don’t sound like that.” He said over his shoulder, pulling out drawers and fishing for some of Dean’s clothes that he could wear.

He heard Dean get up off the bed then felt the warm sweat-dampened skin press against his back; hands sliding around to wrap across his stomach.

Dean kissed the inside curve of his neck. His unshaven scruff tickled.

“Mmm… get dressed or we’ll never leave this room.” Misha pushed back against him and shoved his legs into the second stolen pair of boxer-briefs.

He pulled a worn t-shirt on and found it was a Metallica, Ride the Lightning t-shirt. It smelled like clean laundry and Dean.

“Where are the jeans I stole yesterday?” He asked mostly to himself, moving around the room as Dean got dressed.

“Wherever you tossed them last night before you got naked and into my bed.”

“I kept my underwear on.” Misha argued.

“Yeah, that helped.” Dean replied sarcastically.

Misha finally found them underneath one of the blankets that had ended up on the floor.

They were slightly too big, a little looser than he liked normally but he didn’t want to wear the dress pants he’d been wearing when he arrived—especially as they were the same ones that Cas had on.

Now that they were dressed, they were stalling. Both men looked at the door and then each other.

“Now or never?” Misha raised an eyebrow with his hand on the doorknob waiting for the okay.

“Fuck. Yeah okay.”

**/\/\/\**

The door opened and the world didn’t end, Dean took it as a win. Between yesterday and today his whole life seemed to have changed. Watching Misha fall in love with him so fast and so visibly, like it was written in a scrolling LED banner right through his blue stare, had set a minor earthquake shattering through his system and fucking everything up worse than it was before.

He wanted Misha and somehow, however unnervingly, that he loved him. All the weird quirkiness and all the little things that reminded him of Cas: the soft smiles, the depth of his stare, the way he chewed his lips.

And then there was Cas himself… They were three steps from the turn towards the library and Dean halted.

“Go make coffee or something.” He said in a tight voice, hoping not to offend Misha. His worry was without reason when Misha smiled and backed away with a nod of his head.

Dean took several deep breaths and walked around the corner and into the room.

He stopped mid-step at the sight. Cas was slumped in a chair, his legs up on another and his eyes closed and mouth slightly parted.

Dean raced over with a burst of speed and nearly crashed into the chair. He grabbed Cas’ face.

“Hey!” Dean nearly shouted and Cas jolted awake, lifting up into a straighter posture and finding Dean’s eyes as he regained his bearings.

Cas looked bewildered. “Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” He spoke frantically. “Why are you sleeping? When did you start sleeping?” He blasted the angel with questions, still maintaining a desperate hold on his face, not daring to let go for fear that he would slump right back down again.

“Umm… I don’t know. Sometime in the night I must have drifted off.” Cas replied mundanely.

“ _Drifted off?!”_ Dean’s words smacked back at him and he moved his hands to Cas’ thigh and shoulder, needing to touch more just in case… he didn’t know why… but needed reassurance.

“What’s wrong with you?” He demanded.

Cas looked away, guilt and secrets glowing bright as a neon light. Dean wanted to scream and yell at him, but who was he to talk? He thought wryly with a glance to his arm.

“His grace is burning out.” Misha’s voice broke into the room and Dean whipped his head around.

“What the hell does that mean?” He asked Misha and then turned back to the angel.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Cas replied as he tried to move away from Dean’s lingering hold on him.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Dean warned roughly when the angel attempted retreat.

“Talk. _Now_.” He ordered, putting both hands on Cas’ shoulders and pushing his weight down onto him, staring hard into the eyes he’d only an hour ago watched turn dark at the peak of arousal. His mind melded the two images together and his sudden anger switched into something else. Cas squinted briefly, noticing the change but hopefully in the dark of what it meant.

Dean heard loud clanging in the kitchen; a signal that they were now alone.

“I’m fine.” Cas spoke and his words came out less clipped than before, a little rougher.

“What happens if the grace burns out?” Dean asked, noting how worn he sounded. His worst fears jabbing at him for attention.

“It won’t.” Cas replied, his eyes moving to where Dean’s arms were braced on either side of him. His cheeks flushed from sleep and something else.

“Cas…” He pleaded.

“You should have showered.” Cas bit off the words and threw them at him. Or at least that’s how it felt. It was less than he deserved.

All the carefully placed barriers in their fucked up friendship became suddenly too much for him to handle anymore, not caring if they fell around him. Nothing made sense now anyway.

Dean didn’t say anything back. Cas didn’t move away, though he easily could have. The angel’s stare was definitely in smiting territory but Dean brought one hand to the side of his face in a daring gesture.

He let everything out for a second; a small brief moment where he knew his expression showed everything and he prayed that Cas was invading his thoughts… _Do you love me??Do you want me? What are you to me?_

Cas blinked and the anger withered. Stoicism took over and for whatever reason that hurt more. Dean stepped away, his hands falling to his sides. They felt empty just hanging there, longer and heavier than they normally did.

“You love him?” Cas asked quietly. The softest brush of his voice that Dean had ever experienced.

Dean looked at him, meeting his stare. “Yes.” He exhaled the word. A surge of courage brought more words out of him. “But it’s because of you. Started because of you… because I—“

“I know. Dean, it’s okay.” Cas got up and moved away, methodically picking up a book like they weren’t having the biggest, most intense conversation they’d ever had.

“What?” Dean blinked in a daze.

“I’m glad you have this.” The angel’s voice was flat as a fucking pancake.

“Why? Because I can’t have you?” Dean cracked, anger bubbling up from somewhere.

“Can we please not discuss this now?” Cas asked tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose in a very human gesture.

“Oh, I’m sorry, should we wait another half dozen years?!” Dean yelled, suddenly pissed off and scared and faintly horny for no good reason.

That got his attention. Cas’ blue eyes flew up in his direction and surprise was all in the whites of his eyes.

“Half dozen years?” Cas asked, a small smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

Dean grinned timidly. “Uhh… yeah.”

Cas let out a small breath of laughter before biting his lip to quell it.

“That’s not supposed to be funny.” Dean said.

“I don’t find it funny at all.” Cas clarified. “I… umm.. I suppose I was happy.” He shrugged, still smiling.

“Alright… I guess that’s good.” Dean scrunched his face, totally confused about what was happening. Was Cas still mad at him? Where the hell had Misha gone off to? Would he end up in bed with both of them? Oh for the love of—

“Dean, for now, let’s simply deal with one thing at a time.” He walked over and placed a heavy book in Dean’s hands.

“Great… more books.” He said in a dry murmur. Cas wrapped his fingers around Dean’s forearm, drawing his attention.

“And please stop fantasizing so loud, I can’t concentrate.” Cas grinned. “I’m sorry I was rude. I had no right to be as I never… pursued you myself. I don’t have any right to be jealous.”

“Wait… wait… does this mean… do you?” He wavered, unable to let the sentence out all the way.

“ _Dean_ …” His name came out soft and affectionate, and yet sounded reproving at the same time. “Our lives are complicated.” The angel said in explanation.

“I know. I still should have said something.” Dean said, holding onto the book close to his chest, trying to bring Cas closer to him.

“You? Talk about feelings? Shockingly that possibility never occurred to me.” Cas quipped back and grasped his arm tightly once before he let go.

“I know, but—“

“—Dean, one thing at a time.” Cas repeated and looked pointedly at the book in Dean’s arms. “I promise you we’ll figure out whatever this is, but right now we have more important things to deal with.”

“This is important, Cas.” He said clearly. Cas smoldered impatiently. “Alright, alright.” Dean caved. Resolved to come back to this when it would make more sense anyway.

Misha, with perfect (AKA _planned_ ) timing, walked into the room with three cups of coffee.

Weirdly… nothing was all that weird. Of course, he and Misha didn’t touch each other but other than that they fell into research mode and by one in the afternoon Dean was feeling pretty damn good. Sometimes mistakes aren’t mistakes at all, he thought with a small little smile to himself.

“Why are you smiling like an idiot to no one?” Misha asked tossing a pencil at him.

“Fuck off. I’m having a pretty good day.” He said cheerfully.

“I’ll bet you are.” Cas said with his head down and reading. Dean turned beet red, he could feel it. The words weren’t said in a harsh way, more teasing than anything else, but it made him feel bad anyway, and embarrassed as all hell.

 _Annnnd…_ back to the books.

**/\/\/\**

Just after nine two things happened simultaneously, the phone rang and Cas appeared to swear in enochian.

“Here!” He slammed the book on the table as Dean answered the call from Sam.

“Casper dead yet?” Dean answered.

“Mother _FUCK_!!!” Sam yelled at something. “No…. Hey! Umm… Running… the moment, but it’s all… under control.” Sam spoke loud, huffing out of breath and Dean pulled the phone away from his ear.

“Why are you calling me then?” He asked impatiently.

“I hit send on the phone… by… huhhf… accident.” He panted.

“Alright, well I think Cas found something, call me when you’re not running anymore!” Dean hollered into the phone hearing Sam yell to Lindin to _“Light the fucking match alrea—“_ and then the phone cut out.

“So Sam’s having a good time it sounds like.” Dean told Cas and Misha who were waiting for him to end the call.

“What’d’ya got?” He looked at Cas.

“I think I found it. The spell.” He passed the book to Misha and told him to read it.

“Sounds the same. I think.” He allowed, a little uncertain.

Dean noticed that Cas was smiling extra wide.

“What’s with the happy grin? Are you that excited for Misha to be gone?” Dean asked, feeling a weird torrent of feelings, all different and competing.

“No no… I think it will work.” He breathed the words. “My grace… I think the spell will pull it to me.” The eagerness had him all tense and ready to throw the spell into a bowl and lit match at the drop of a hat.

“Ok, let’s take a minute here… Misha said he cut himself just before he got sent here, right?”

Misha agreed and Cas nodded. “Ok, so if the spell is supposed to reconnect an angel with his grace, why did the spell, with Misha’s blood, send him _here_?” He asked, pointing down in a vague indication of this world, effectively stumping them both.

Cas stood up and he turned to look at Misha. “Well…” He began, moving closer. Misha looking worried and dubious of what the approach signified. Then he turned sickly white.

“Oh no, no, no….” The negative was rolling out of Misha’s mouth and he began walking backwards towards the open arch to the hallway. Dean stood up, bracing for whatever was gearing up.

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean asked, a low-grade alarm setting in.

“I think I understand. But I must be sure.” Cas said, turning back to Dean. “I won’t hurt him.” He cocked his head “… _permanently._ ” He tacked on.

“Whoa, you wanna do that angel-cavity search on Misha?” Dean exclaimed and jogged around the table, coming to stand between them. The symbolism of the situation not at all lost on him.

“Dean… I won’t hurt him.”

“Ok… I’m all for getting home and everything, but is this really necessary?” Misha clamoured, retreating more.

“Misha… I’m not being intentionally cruel.” Cas explained patiently.

“What’s your theory?” Dean asked, grabbing Cas and turning him to face Dean.

“Suffice to say it would explain a lot.” He answered precisely. Dean spent a minute taking it in, turning the words around in his head and then nodded.

“I’m sorry, you think you giving permission means I give permission?” Misha blurted defensively.

“Mish… it’ll be fine.” Dean pleaded.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not about to have his hand shoved up inside you. Oh god… that sounded so friggin’ bad. _Fuck_ … okay, okay. Let’s do this before I cave.” Misha visibly tensed, preparing himself for the pain.  

“Sit in the chair.” Cas gestured to the chair he’d been sleeping in earlier. Misha exhaled a shaky breath and walked past them to the chair, where he slumped down into it.

Dean was already recoiling in anticipation of watching it. _Oh this is gonna suck…._

Cas slipped off his belt easily and held it in front of Misha’s mouth who fixed him with a heavy scornful half-grin.

“Really not the foreplay I’d imagined with myself.” He mumbled nervously. Dean ramped up his inner alarm to yellow-alert.

Cas smiled teasingly down at Misha, “I’ll try to make up for it later.” _What the fuck???_ The statement stunned Dean enough that he didn’t even notice Cas had begun until he heard Misha screaming. It was the worst sound. Ragged and hysterical at the same time, like he couldn’t control anything at that level of pain.

And then it was done.

Misha was passed out in the chair and Cas had stumbled backwards and banged against the table, his arms swinging back to settle onto it. Dean moved to stabilize him.

“You okay?” Dean asked, running his hands up Cas’ arms to seize his shoulders and hold him steady.

“He’s me.” Cas rambled the words low and aimless.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Dean jostled him a little to focus.

“Whoa…strange.” Cas blinked and looked around. It reminded Dean of the drugged out Cas he’d met on Zachariah’s all-inclusive vacation to Croatoan Land—a really fucked up of version of Disney Land with violent zombies instead of Charming Princes and Princesses.

“Hey!” Dean snapped, slapping his face now, growing impatient. “Clear. Sentences.” He enunciated slowly.

“Dean… His soul… it’s umm… it’s me. Sort of… I don’t. I don’t know how to explain it.” He giggled.

_Cas._

_Fucking._

_Giggled._

Dean pulled his hands away but stretched forward to really look at Cas’ face. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry… sorry. I’m getting weird, uhh, trickles of emotion from touching his soul… that is somehow me. It, umm, tingles.” He explained; a weird smile on his face that Dean had never seen before.

“Like the Vulcan mind-meld?” Dean simplified experimentally.

“Yes!” Cas pointed at him. “Exactly.” The vehement consensus left Dean a little perturbed, until he remembered that Metatron had recently given him the equivalent of a Matrix style-cultural reference download.

“Huh… uhh….” Dean began nervously. “Exactly how much… ‘transference’ did you get?” Dean flinched an anxious smile.

Cas shook his head quickly. “Not much, just flashes of sensation and emotion.” He replied, sounding, thankfully more controlled.

“Dean.” Misha groaned his name and Dean whirled around and saw a sight so agonizingly similar that he felt his heart stop. Cas put a hand on his shoulder and his heart restarted. _Jesus Christ, these two are gonna put me in the damn hospital._

Dean walked the couple steps to Misha and hauled his face upwards into a searing kiss that pressed their teeth hard against the insides of their lips. When he was satisfied that the kiss made him feel better, he pulled off.

“Fuck!” He breathed in relief before turning around again. “I said specifically, Cas: ‘ _Never do that again_!’” He repeated in a strong voice.

“He didn’t die.” Cas clarified, giving him an innocent frown.

“Well, how about you never even look dead, okay?” Then Dean turned to Misha. “You either.” All the head-turning and double-mint setting had him wondering if this was what it might feel like to be inside a tornado. A cyclone of blue eyes and dry lips…

“I need to sit down.” Dean fell into the nearest chair, two sets of blue eyes on him.

“What does this mean for the spell?” Dean asked in a ragged voice.

“The reason he got drawn here was because the spell tries to piece together parts of a whole—specifically as it relates to angels. Somehow, as far as I can tell, Misha and I are, for lack of a better term, synonymous. He got pulled here because of me.” Cas explained.

“Why didn’t he end up right beside you then?” Dean wondered aloud.

“I’m honestly not sure.”

“I may have a wonky explanation for that.” Misha jumped in. “We were performing the spell at the bunker. Although, the bunker in, ya know, TV land or whatever, is actually in Vancouver. But maybe the spell is flawed or strangely literal in terms of where I moved through, fuck, space or whatever.” He gestured an open hand waiting for a reaction.

“I guess…” Dean stretched the word with doubt.

“And if we do the spell now?” He asked.

“I assume if we use his blood, not much would happen, but if we use mine we could possibly get my grace back, and then I can bring him back using your doppelganger as an anchor. The only glitch is that I’d have to wait for him to pray. Unfortunately we can’t simply send him back directly using the spell since there is nothing of his blood there to draw him back.”

“I have family.” Misha debated.

“You have offspring. It’s not the same as the connection with me.” Cas explained.

Dean was ready to take a nap, but he powered through. “Umm… so what’s involved then?” He asked, getting right into the thick of it.

“The list is… exotic. We will need to split up and gather the missing ingredients. It could take some time, a few days since I can no longer fly, but at least most of this stuff we can probably get downstairs.” Cas grabbed the book and handed it over for Dean to read.

Dean scanned the list and agreed.

“Okay, so the three in the middle: faery teeth, umm ick by the way; a beacon of God—whatever the fuck that is; and… the blood of a Unicorn… wait… Unicorns are fucking’ real!?” Dean looked at Cas expectantly.

“They are extinct so finding the last ingredient will be tricky, but I have an idea where I can find some.”

“Why the bizarro ingredients?” Dean asked.

“Because the spell is meant to draw an unwilling angel with the use of their blood or a bit of their grace. Think of it like a disconnected summoning spell, except instead of pulling a singular entity, it pulls every piece from a single essence. Does that make sense?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded. “Sure. Whatever. I know a guy who can get us faery teeth, but I have no idea what a Beacon of God is.”

Cas smiled knowingly. “Of course you do.”

“Yes! Of course!” Misha clapped his hands. “But where is it?”

“I have it.” Cas replied, causing Misha to get all warm and affectionate looking.

“You blue-eyed beauties wanna fill me in?” Dean asked, looking to both of them.

Cas walked towards him and stood in front of his seated form. Cas fished into his coat pockets, several actually, until he checked his front pants pocket and then made a ‘ _got-it_ ’ face.

He pulled out a closed fist and held it out for Dean. “It took me a while to find this again. I thought one day you may want it. I know it holds a lot of meaning for you.”

Dean stared at the closed fist. He had a weird twitch in his gut telling him he already knew what it was. The flood of nostalgia, of that moment when he’d been given it, flashed through his mind. He opened his hand in wait.

The weight of the charm and soft loops of the leather strap landed in his palm with less flourish than he expected. He wasn’t sure what he thought would happen, but something about having it back in his possession set the world a little bit righter.

“You’ve had this…” He swallowed back something unnameable. “For how long?”

“Years. I should have given it back. I’m sorry Dean.”

Dean closed his fist around the gift that Sam had given him so long ago. Without thinking , he stood up and wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders.

“Thank you.” He whispered into the mess of his hair, feeling Cas’ arms wrap around him. The feel of his body gave Dean a low-level hum running over his skin, settling right into his bones and he was surprised at the reaction. He would’ve thought, after everything with Misha, that this would feel less novel.

“You should sit down.” Cas said. Dean pulled back and realized he was speaking to Misha and not him.

Misha’s skin was sort of gray, his stance listing to the side.

“Yeah… great idea.” He sighed and dropped back into the chair.

“Alright.” Dean began. “You’re on unicorn blood, Misha and I will drive out to get the faery teeth. There are a couple of other things on the list we don’t have here and I’ll ask Sam to pick those up on his way home.”

Cas leaned back against the table beside Dean. “I will need my car, you’ll have to find another.”

“Yeah, I’ll figure something out. I’m gonna go grab some gear and we can head out in a couple hours or so.”

Moving out of the room, Dean stopped before turning the corner and looked back at the two identical faces. One a little ashen, the other flushed with anticipation. They were staring at each other and Dean wondered what was going through their heads.

Dean saw Misha smile weakly at the angel and Cas rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“So we’re the same?” Misha asked Cas in a raddled voice.

“It would seem.” Cas replied, shifting closer to the chair. His body leaning against the table, turned away from Dean.

“I guess that does explain a lot.” Misha grinned.

“Yes.” Dean could hear the smile in that single word. Misha smiled and shifted in the chair.

“You, uhh, mentioned something before all the agony about ‘ _making it up to me’_? Let’s get back to that.” Misha winked and Cas let out a huff of laughter.

Dean was tempted to stick around and hope for something… interesting to play out. But decided to leave them free of his gawking stare.

Confusion and arousal had certainly become a constant aspect of Dean’s existence the last couple days. As he moved down the hall, he felt a sudden prick of unexpected anger, true baseless rage and was surprised it hadn’t resurfaced until now. He glanced down at his arm and thought, just maybe, there were worse things that being confused and perpetually turned-on.

It suddenly dawned on him that perhaps Misha had been right all along. There was something about him or Cas, or both, that had an unusual effect on Dean. A calming rush of comfort and warmth that shoved the effects of the Mark somewhere hidden, deep inside of him.

As he threw some necessities into a bag he found himself doing something he hadn’t done in a long time: humming much loved tunes like Metallica and Bad Company. He was able to shift aside the irrational anger in favour of picturing Cas and Misha fooling around together. He didn’t even feel bad about the blatant pornographic thoughts, it was his mind and he could play as much porn as he damn well pleased.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... what do ya think?? Eek... :-/


	6. I've always been yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the few hours before they must leave to get the ingredients for the spell that will send Misha home, Cas forces himself to get answers to questions that have been plaguing him the entire day. The questioning leads to an interesting discovery about his connection with Misha, and the answers lay his fears to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all my reviewers and a massive, colossal hug to Tennyo who beta'd for me.

“This is bad. Fuck, this is so bad.” Jensen’s knee bounced up and down from irritation and impatience. He was sitting on the deep-set black leather couch trying to restrain the urge to stand and pace. Jared had already yelled at him once.

“Yeah, it’s bad.” Jared agreed. The lighthearted jokes from two days ago were far-gone now. They were both antsy and bad-tempered. Lying to their wives, to Misha’s wife, to the friggin’ crew. They’d taken off from set and ended up back at Jensen’s apartment in the city.  They’d hardly slept, or eaten. Had more than enough to drink though. Not water, mind you, but fluids nonetheless.

Jensen mentally ticked off everything they’d tried so far (some probably unwise). A repeat of the spell had been the first thing, that didn’t work for shit. Prayers from both of them had resulted in diddley-squat. Hell, they’d even gotten on their damn knees at one point--that’d looked ridiculous. That’s when they’d really gone off the reservation. They went and got ingredients they remembered from work and tried to summon Crowley. To their combined disappointment and relief, the Scot didn’t show. Back to square one and Jensen had nothing to go on. The fear was eating at him, and the worry, and the fucking ragged tear ripping it’s way inside of him anytime he considered the possibility that he would never see Misha again. It would be as if he were dead. Every time the thought crossed his mind, he would shove it away and begin pelting Jar with questions, or pacing, or yelling… he opted for questions this time.

“What do we do?” He asked desperately, dragging a sweaty palm over his face. _C’mon Mish, you’re givin’ me grays here!_

“Try again, maybe?” Jar suggested. A prayer… yes, another prayer. Another _fucking_ useless, piece of shit prayer. He pegged the behemoth of a man with an insolent glare.

“Praying didn’t do shit the first bazillion times, ‘the fuck makes you think it will work now?” He argued.

“You don’t know that it didn’t work.” Jared lamely rebuffed.

“Umm… do you see Misha anywhere? ‘Cause I sure fucking don’t.” His voice now loud—too loud for the room.

They glared stubbornly at each other before Jensen finally caved.

“Fine.” He snapped. He threw his palms together with a harsh slap that echoed as his ‘fuck-you’ to God. “Dear Castiel, you winged bastard. If you can hear me, please fly your ass to our dimension because apparently we’ve all gone crazy and need some serious mental help.” He nodded and parted his hands to find Jared staring at him condescendingly.

“What?” He barked.

“You winged bastard?” Jared repeated in a flat tone, a wry curve to his mouth.

An answering smirk triggered sudden laughter, the sheer absurdity of it all causing them to lose it completely. The roll of laughter between them was a little dry and a lot forced, but it was humour all the same, and it lessened the clawing despair that had set into his bones.

**/\/\/\**

Castiel smiled warmly at Misha’s teasing words, letting a small laugh cross his lips. He could sense Dean behind him and was quite surprised when the hunter left the room. Knowing Dean as he did, that must have been difficult.

“Planning on living up to your word or were you just trying to distract me?” Misha asked. His skin was sallow from the earlier pain, a light sheen of sweat drying on his forehead.

“How should I ‘ _make up for it’_?” Castiel queried, earning a meek grin in response.

“For starters, I wouldn’t mind some help with the jitters I’ve got going on right now,” he said plainly. 

“Of course. My apologies.” Castiel tipped his chin and took the single step to bring him within touching distance. He placed two fingers against the sweat-dampened skin of Misha’s forehead. He paused a moment, uncertain of the reason, suddenly finding himself pushing back the dark hair that was plastered to smooth skin. Misha’s eyes closed with the action and Castiel found himself staring at the sight of himself, but not himself. It was peculiar. He felt strangely protective of this individual; the need to care for him rivaled his instincts towards Dean.

Castiel healed the after effects of the procedure as best he could, though the ache would remain for a while longer.

“Better?” Castiel asked, leaning once more against the solid table. He felt an odd tingle slither up his right arm and shook it to dispel the discomfort.

Misha stood, his limbs moving with notable relief. “Yes,” he breathed, the colour returning to his face. “Still feel like I have some wicked heartburn but at least now I don’t feel like I have the flu.”

Misha fell silent and they stared at one another, trying to figure things out, make sense of the nonsensical. Castiel had been jealous of, perplexed by, and yet oddly drawn to this man. 

“So what are we then?” Misha moved, coming to lean on the table at his right. “Two halves of a whole, or what?” He turned his matching gaze on Castiel to await a response.

“Not exactly. The best explanation I can give you is that when I am human, if I choose to fall—if I am _forced_ to fall—my human soul is identical to yours. Exactly the same, like a clone perhaps. The essence of who I am, manifested as a human soul or an angel’s grace, is a reflection of the basic component of who you are.” Castiel gestured with his hands as he spoke, struggling slightly to understand the concept himself. Touching Misha’s soul had done peculiar things to not only his own essence and sense of self but also his entire understanding of this whole world. It had also made him feel… lightheaded and giddy; a close approximation of being drunk but monumentally more pleasant, and thankfully, without the headache and nauseating after effects.

“I gather our connection, our _symmetry_ , is why your soul is unique among humans _._ It is strangely reminiscent of an angel’s grace. Anna’s human soul had the same oddity. I should have made the connection sooner; I simply never would have imagined that we were more than matching eyes and hair.” He shrugged in summation.

“Well… I am pretty damn angelic.” Misha quipped in that tone of sarcasm that Castiel was familiar with. His twin’s expression turned serious, mouth parting to speak, “How do you explain all this parallel universe stuff?” Misha’s focus on him deepened as he became fascinated by the conversation.

Castiel mused aloud, “To be honest, I can’t. I have no idea how one is created. Which would’ve come first? My memories tell me that I’ve lived through the creation of this world, been here for millennia. But then… perhaps Metatron’s view of stories, and some philosophers, is not as implausible as we’d have thought.” He continued, “Maybe the very moment your world created the concept of this world, we were born into existence.” Castiel contemplated. The idea was an intriguing one. The discussion of dimensions and parallel worlds had always amused him, though, he’d never expected to find himself spread between two of them contemplating the authenticity of his own existence.

“Huh.” Misha stared off at the wall, turned away, lost in his own thoughts. Cas observed his profile and pondered his own memories. Were they false? Made up somehow by some Chuck-equivalent writing a story? It left a nervous roll of anxiety stretching through him, the hidden fear that he might not be real.

“You and Jensen have been together for a while?” Castiel asked to break the silence, both in the room and inside his own head.

“Yeah… umm, about five years... _ish_.” Misha’s response was distracted, thoughts elsewhere.

“Can I ask what you first thought when you met him?” Misha turned back and met his eyes. The stare now focused on Castiel was so incredibly blue. It was nearly impossible to believe that his own eyes were the same. He found it oddly captivating and the arrogance of that thought did not pass him by unnoticed.

Misha laughed, “Honestly, I thought he was going to be a total dick.” Despite the words, there was love in his expression, in the soft curve of his lips in a very private smile. Castiel breathed deeply. He needed to know what other parallels these worlds held.

“And then?”

“And then…,” The actor shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s charismatic, I guess, but it was more than that. I get excited around him. He makes me feel… something unique. I can’t explain it.” Misha pressed his lips together, struggling to put his thoughts into words.

“I understand.” Castiel’s tone was heavy with raw understanding; weighed down from the sight of a blazing fire and evil surrounding a bright soul, from a park in the daylight, from a road at night, the smell of leather, the heavy press of a hand on his shoulder.

“I guess all this explains why I… well, you know…” Misha turned his palm up in an obvious substitution for the words that he clearly didn’t want to say out loud. The atmosphere in the room drifted into uncomfortable territory with the change of discussion.  The elephant in the room suddenly trumpeting away.

Castiel took over the sentence, “Why you fell in love with Dean with such immediate rapture?” He looked across his shoulder and smiled kindly, the jealousy being replaced by a sense of empathy—knowing for himself just how easy that fall was. The thought brought on other considerations—What if their roles had been reversed? If Castiel had found himself with Dean’s parallel-world counterpart, would he have remained detached and unfeeling or would that soul have captured him the way it did before?

Misha chuckled low and nervous, “Yeah…”

They leaned on the table in silence following the admission, both giving the situation considerable thought. Castiel no longer begrudged the actor his weakness. It was a weakness they unmistakably shared. Misha having fallen for Jensen, despite the imperfect circumstances of how and when their love had established itself, was proof of the conclusions that he was close to deciphering. Castiel himself had defied Heaven nearly without thought or hesitation. He should’ve known at the time what it had meant but living so long without emotions had made it difficult to define or even recognize the ones that would eventually consume him.

When he realized what his decisions amounted to, what the nagging pull in his gut was telling him, he’d felt instant sorrow. Total despair in knowing that it was a wasted one-sided devotion. That is, of course, until small clues, tells on Dean’s part, began to give the hunter away.  As everything slowly fell into place, terrible things occurred. He had been forced into a graceless existence by Metatron and he was reminded of all the reasons that love had no place in this world. Not for him, or Dean, or Sam. Much as he wanted to hope that it could be possible, there was a deeply embedded fear that even if he were willing to strive for more, he could very well be alone in that.

With that knowledge and closing decision, he’d done nothing, said nothing, assuming (apparently wrongfully) that Dean agreed that love had no place in this world. Relationships be doomed, etcetera, Castiel thought cynically.

_And then Misha had arrived._

And _all_ of Castiel’s preconceived notions of what Dean wanted; or was capable of, turned on its head. His immediate reaction had been anger. Unjustified annoyance that Dean would so abruptly, so quickly, fall for someone who looked like him. It was the most overtly ironic slap in the face there ever was.

Dean stumbling into an apology that had morphed rapidly into a confession had been unexpected. While Castiel had not been surprised by the words, he’d been downright shocked that Dean had decided to voice them. Even going so far as to say he’d felt things for longer than Castiel had realized… a lot longer. Despite the happiness, the sheer joy of hearing out loud Dean’s love for him, the fear had remained. _Why him?_   _Why now?_

It had been the nagging question in the back of his mind. _If you loved me,_ love me _, then why after all this time did you let him in and not me?_

The question was answered the moment he’d touched Misha’s soul. The echo of himself, so clear and familiar had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. And he realized, probably moreso than even either Misha or Dean, that Dean hadn’t _abruptly_ fallen for Misha without precursor, he’d simply been acting on feelings that had already been there for himself. Of this, he was certain. By his own confession, Dean _had_ argued this, but Castiel didn’t believe it until he’d felt it for himself.

Misha’s love for Jensen, who, Castiel was convinced, would have an identical soul to Dean, was organic. Not something he would have been able to control because it was already there.

All of this Castiel understood. The connections between souls, his bond with Dean, the weird dynamic that ensued because of the two worlds mixing in a way they were never meant to.

The only question that remained, the one confusing aspect of the whole line of events, was the tipping point. The singular moment that had caused Dean to act. Castiel was desperate for this, because he wanted it… He wanted to know in precise detail how to close that distance, how to ease the ache in his heart. Hester had been right… in raising Dean from Hell, he’d been lost. From that very moment, a part of himself had fused with Dean’s soul irrevocably and Misha had become the key. The actor had brought them together. The sad, and ironic, reality being that Castiel had not been a part of it. This could be remedied, he thought with a whir of very unangelic thoughts.

Several minutes had passed during his inner ruminations and Castiel angled his face to observe his companion. His _other_.

Misha wore a wistful expression, a sadness that brought a smile and Castiel wondered where his thoughts had taken him. He could’ve found out for himself but didn’t want to breach the actor’s personal space for a second time.  

Castiel opened his mouth to speak—

_“Castiel… you winged bastard. If you can … me, pl–   fly your ass to our dimension … –tly we’ve all gone crazy … need some serious mental help.”_

“—like you were gonna say something?” The tail end of Misha’s words met his return to the here and now.

“My apologies, your… Jensen was praying again.” ‘ _Praying’_ was a bit of an overstatement, Castiel thought as his features compressed in slight offence. _Yes, he and Dean certainly were the same, weren’t they?_ He thought with mild contempt.

“Uhh, what did Jensen say? You seem a little peeved.” A bemused half-grin accompanied the words.

“He called me a winged bastard.” Castiel stated tersely. He was especially displeased at the rude reference because he did not, in fact, have wings any longer. _Must he be constantly reminded of this?_

Misha laughed in a loud crack of sound. “He’s just worried.” He defended, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t smite him or anything when we bring me back.”

“I shall do my best.” Castiel responded pithily.

“You were about to say something before we were so rudely interrupted by my handsome Texan.” Misha turned sideways, propping his hip against the table. Castiel felt the attention settle on him and he shifted uncomfortably. He felt small suddenly. Small, and… inexperienced. It was irritating. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to calm himself.

He unnecessarily cleared his throat before beginning, “Yes… I—” He looked away, “—was wondering… how you did it?” He closed his mouth, began chewing the inside of his lip and tried to find something interesting about the chair off to his left.

Misha grabbed his arm and pulled him around but Castiel couldn’t meet his gaze. He felt those matching eyes bore into him.

For all Castiel’s power, his breadth of knowledge, his own level of self-confidence, his skills developed from centuries on the “God-squad” as Dean had referred to it, this subject caused him to stumble, to keep his eyes trained elsewhere from the ones he knew so well.  It dawned him that he was… embarrassed.

“How I did what?” Misha pressed, his voice dropping to a lower register.

With a calming breath, Cas forced himself to meet Misha’s unyielding focus.

“How you managed to… to get Dean to… umm…” He stopped speaking, unable to remember the English language. _Why is this so difficult? Why am I perspiring? This is ludicrous._ Castiel didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to plainly put forth the following questions: How did you get Dean to kiss you, to want to kiss you, to have him let you be physical?  He felt profoundly dumb and it was grossly infuriating. His hand made another pass over his neck.

Thankfully he was saved from further suffering as Misha’s confused mask softened with understanding. He finished Cas’ sentence for him, “…To go past that last boundary into something… _more_?” Misha arched an insinuating brow.

Castiel swallowed and nodded.

“Easy.” Misha beamed, pleased to have such an obvious answer. “I used his desire and love for you. Very, _very_ seductively.” The last word slipped out slow with a smirk, a mischievous one.

Castiel frowned, his brows cinched, “Me? Seductively?” _That can’t be right._

“Yup!” Misha answered with a pop. The similar shades of blue were gleaming at him. Castiel felt as if he were on the other side of a secret.

“I don’t think I understand.” He admitted, his mouth in a tight line.

Misha enclosed a hand over his wrist, a soft touch that redoubled his attention to the man standing beside him, both turned on their hips facing each other.

“Can you look into memories?” Misha slanted his head with the question.

Castiel pondered the request. He knew where this was headed and debated whether it was something he truly wanted to see.

“Yes.” He blurted automatically. And then he sighed and clamped his mouth shut.

“The day I got here, we were in the kitchen.” Misha shrugged, “I don’t know if you need more direction than that.” The memory offered, Castiel leaned closer.

Finding himself less than a foot apart from an identical reproduction of himself, and perhaps the very reason for his creation, he stared into the eyes he’d seen in the mirror and brought a palm up to the matching face.

Castiel felt the rough prickle of unshaven facial hair and the smooth skin near the top of his cheek. The pull of something was there, something he couldn’t place or identify. It was reminiscent of the tingle he’d felt following the healing. Castiel imagined that the two of them together was considered a form of paradox. What effect it would have in the long run, he wasn’t sure.

His palm tickled with sensation and he delved into the memories of the man in front of him. He quickly found the point of reference.

**/\/\/\**

_Sliding off the counter, Misha stepped close enough to feel the body heat hover between them. He leaned in close to Dean’s ear, “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to have him inside you?” Misha whispered boldly, pressing up against Dean in the memory.  Castiel blanched at the image the words stirred in him._

_Dean sucked in a breath, rendered momentarily mute. Misha’s hand trailed up Dean’s sides, the memory so crisp that Castiel could feel the hard body underneath the fabric and how it tensed further with the touch. He shivered. In fact, they both did._

_“You’ve thought about the warmth of his skin.” Misha continued. Castiel swallowed thick. “Can you picture him shuddering with pleasure from your touch?” Misha grew warm, flushed with arousal within the memory. He moved his face close to Dean’s neck, nudging into the warm space, skimming his lips over the soft skin. Castiel felt the echo of heat, of smoothness, the frantic beat of a pulse, and he nearly fell out of the memory._

_“I know he’s thought about it.” The words pressed on. “He wants to feel you deep, so deep that he doesn’t remember how it feels not to have you a part of him.”  Misha breathed roughly against Dean’s skin, his hands running over Dean’s muscular arms. Castiel’s own fingers twitched where they rested on Misha’s face in the present. And then Misha was grabbing Dean’s hips and pushing him harder into the counter.  Castiel moaned._

_“He imagines in full clarity, with every detail, how it would feel to wake up next to you. To be able to tell you he loves you.” Castiel saw Dean gulp and squirm. His breathing turned deep, strained, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him._

_“Don’t you want to feel him coming inside you while he looks into your eyes and whispers your name?” Dean's eyes turned fierce and he snapped, aggressively throwing Misha against the back of the steel table with a clatter of background noise.  Dean unleashed a savage look as he grabbed at Misha’s waist, and then his hips, sliding up to his chest. The hands roamed, aimless and needy. Misha moved his leg between Dean’s, rubbing against his groin._

_Castiel began to feel the echo of touch and couldn’t differentiate between the memory and reality. Father in Heaven, he wanted this…_

_The scene continued…_

_Dean cursed, groaning thick, his eyes unfocussed and he fell to Misha’s lips in blind desperation. It was rough and hot. The wet noises of kissing grew muffled._

_Misha moaned into Dean’s mouth, feeling a solid weight pressing into the curve of his hip. Dean kissed passionately. His fingers dug in underneath the waistband of Misha's pants.  Castiel strained, tensing his thighs and buttocks._

_Misha halted, pushing Dean away—much to both Dean’s and Castiel’s dismay. All three men, in reverie and reality were gasping for breath. Dark stares between green and blue merged with ones between blue and matching blue. It was disorienting but heady._

_"What the hell?" Dean spoke, flustered, cheeks tainted red. Lips swollen from the force of the kiss._

_"I don't think this is a good idea..." Misha spoke. "I didn't mean for it to go quite this far, forgive me that. This whole thing... you and Cas, me being here..." His words trailed off, his thoughts becoming disoriented._

_"All that stuff you said..." Dean moved closer._

_"I wasn't being cruel, I was being honest. I was telling you what you already know. You want him, you love him, and you're not alone in that." Misha said softly._

/\/\/\

Castiel dragged himself swiftly out of the memory to find his body flush against Misha’s in a reminiscent replay.  Their groins pressed together, thighs intermingled, and mouths nearly an inch apart. _When had they gotten so close?_ His breath was moving in quick draws in and out of his lungs and he could feel the matching rise and fall against his own chest.  Misha’s cheeks were flushed, his mouth parted. The air was charged with electricity.

“That was…” Castiel licked his incessantly dry lips, “ _Vivid_.” He exhaled in a rush. A surge of something, an aching pull teased the want to be closer.

Misha nodded once in agreement, his expression dreamy. There was a hazy glow in the air between them, like dust caught in sunlight, a thrum of energy that pulsed the closer they got. Castiel wasn’t sure if he wanted to be nearer or push himself away. 

“You’re feeling this right?” Misha panted, eyes roaming over Castiel hungrily. He returned the look without a thought as to why he shouldn’t.

Castiel didn’t bother replying, the answer was obvious. He pushed closer, his cheek grazed the side of Misha’s face, dipping lower to his neck, breathing him in. The rippling of energy intensified. He shivered with it.

They continued to slowly rub together, touching with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Their faces brushed against one another, and legs, and fingers… hands.

Castiel’s essence, the absolute core of who he was, thrummed in resonance with Misha’s soul. It became so distracting that he almost didn’t notice when lips moved lightly against his own. The dry rub of softness against sensitive skin left a tingling sensation trickling down the back of his tongue. He flinched, his muscles gathered tight and a heavy weight settled in his groin.

  


His dick hardened to full girth faster than he would have imagined possible. His lips pressed and moved tenaciously against Misha’s, demanding closeness, needing to connect. Needing inside. They weren’t close enough. The energy turned hot, the pulse no longer a string of fast beats in the air around them but a humming, a churning of energy that circled between and around them.

Misha’s lips parted, letting wet heat into the touch and Castiel felt himself drift into a trance, becoming nearly hypnotic. Distantly he was aware that lights were flickering. He didn’t care.

Wetness moved across his tongue, sliding over it intimately and he could taste _everything_ that Misha was in that kiss—the mound of memories and proclivities that was his sole definer apart from Castiel. The energy throbbed.

Basic noises escaped him, primal even, but, Father help him, he was powerless to tame them.  Castiel should have been concentrating on what was happening and why but he was consumed, entranced by the flow of static that was running through his veins.

The bewitchment began to fade as Misha drifted away from him, letting in cool air against his overly warm body. His vision swam until the only thing that registered was blue. _Yes_ , he knew this. _I know you. You are me._

“What. The. Fuck?” Misha ground out in coarse, thick words. The voice, stark in the fuzzy silence seemed to bring Castiel back to himself.

The fog cleared and he realized how compromising their postures were—they were practically crawling onto each other. They’d also been kissing… and making very incriminating noises.

Sentiments acknowledged and reflected: _What the fuck?_ Castiel wasn’t normally pre-inclined to curse, but if there was ever the right situation…

“I’m going to speculate,” deep breath, “and say strange things happen when souls of the same construction from different worlds… _umm_ … entice each other.”  His hand was still on Misha’s face and he removed it awkwardly and wiped the sweat off on his pants.

Misha parted his mouth to speak when another, very loud voice broke starkly into the room.

“Holy _fucking_ shit!” Dean shouted, a hand slapping over his mouth in shock and at the height of his own voice. He grinned widely behind it before dropping his hand to the side.

Dean’s upper teeth grabbed at his lower lip and released, “So, _uhh_ , what’s up?” He teased, trying for a straight face and utterly failing.

“Nothing.” They replied, fumbling as they tried to feign innocence.

Dean narrowed his eyes in blatant disbelief and made an objecting snort. “Yuhn-huh. That was not nothing. The two of you were like, fucking glowing. The air around you was all warpy and shit. Hell, the lights were flickering!” Dean rambled, beaming relentlessly throughout.

Castiel tried to meet Dean’s intrusive gleam without remembering the hard ridge of his sex pressing heavy against Misha in the memory, but he could not… especially since his own situation hadn’t yet fully returned to the down position. So instead of smiling, he glowered. 

None of them spoke for nearly a whole minute. It was awkward and tense and Castiel was fairly certain he now fully understood the saying “sexual tension that can be cut with a knife.” There was enough of it in this room to fill a small country in Europe.

“I should leave soon.” Castiel broke the silence, wishing he could readjust his business below. The “boner” as Dean had referred to it had shifted his boxers around and everything was now simply… uncomfortable.  He didn’t necessarily care to use his grace to adjust himself. It felt oddly immoral. 

Dean spoke, “Actually I came to tell you that your wheels are grounded for another hour or so until I can change the oil. I’m telling you Cas, you need to take care of your ride or I won’t let you drive…” Dean smiled crookedly, “‘ _ya know_... the car of course.” Dean licked and bit his lips in a pathetic attempt to stifle the stupid teasing grin that was trying to rise up out of his face. Before Metatron’s actions, Castiel would have been oblivious to the double entendre, presently, he was not. Dean thought he was awfully smooth, didn’t he?

_Now or never_ … Castiel thought to himself.

Castiel strode over to Dean with narrow focus and a heated fixation. _Misha had been bold, why can’t I?_ He was aware that it might be socially unacceptable to show sexual interest in the same room as the intended party’s current sexual partner, but then again, Castiel—knowing souls as he did—didn’t exactly see Misha as something all that separate from himself.

He watched Dean falter the closer he got, the outward confidence crumbling into anxiety. It made Castiel feel powerful. A sudden memory of their second meeting in Bobby’s kitchen sprung to mind, the darkness, the reservation in Dean’s stare, his green eyes shifting away the closer Cas had gotten to him. His body turned hot as he took that final step.

Riding the courage that Misha had given him, he grabbed Dean’s front jeans pocket and tugged him close so that he could whisper into his ear as Misha had done in the kitchen. He reiterated the previous sentiments, hoping they would elicit a similar response, “I wanted you to know that everything he told you is the truth. I want you… in every possible way, in every possible position, until you are lost and need me to find you again.”

Castiel smiled in a rogue twist of his lip and felt a tremor move through Dean’s body.

_Why have I never done this before?!_

Castiel pulled out of the haze of sudden arousal and stepped back, fixing Dean with a straight-face, “Now go change the oil.”

Dean opened his mouth and closed it several times. He glanced between the two matching bodies and faces. “Uhh… yeah… okay.”  He gave a lopsided smile, evidently unhinged, and spun on his heel, leaving the room the same way he’d come.

When Dean left, Castiel let go of the stiffness in his limbs and turned back to Misha with a shy lopsided grin.

“How was that?” He asked nervously.

“I’m so proud. You really are me.” Misha laughed and bounded over like an overgrown child to grab him below his ears and pull him into an abrupt and unexpected kiss. The buzz from the touch was nothing compared to the whirring flow of energy from before, but it tingled all the same.

**/\/\/\**

Misha adored the innocent grin that was plastered to Cas’ face. It was also interesting to see any sort of innocent expression worn by his features—he was pretty damn far from innocent. And after teaching Cas a lesson on seducing Dean, pushing his boundaries, Misha was never more sure of his less-than-innocent status.

_Whoops. Oh well!_

_But Goddamn_ , he thought, the tremor that had ripped through his veins like fucking ecstasy when he and Cas had been kissing was something else. He’d done some drugs in his life for sure, but this was… wow. Just wow. _Dazed and Confused_ was an understatement.  

Things were also getting insurmountably more complicated. In a week he’d managed to get spell-shipped to the alternate reality where ‘ _Supernatural’_ was real, where he would, without hindrance apparently, fall in love with Dean, and then proceed to be told that his acting choices may have spawned Castiel, and in turn Jensen having created Dean, oh, and add on to that the weird cosmic pull that made him want to merge himself with the angel in front of him. The whole thing was starting to give him a headache. Cas stood in front of him pretty much lost in his new found power, looking quite smug.

Misha shook his head. He’d known that Cas wasn’t indifferent to or unaccepting of Dean’s feelings, he just needed the same push that Dean did. Both of them needing that last affirmation of reciprocation and willingness that they’d been too damn stubborn to conclude by themselves. _Enter Misha Collins_ : _matchmaker, baker, candlestick maker…_ he paused his internal ramble… _White-house intern, father, husband, boyfriend, charity organizer, actor, creator of alternate universe angel_. He stopped. Man, the next time he and Jensen had a resume-off, he was totally taking that shit, hands- _fucking_ -down.

He smiled and thought of Jensen, missed him and his uniqueness. The more time spent here, the more he was able to see the depth of their shared soul, or matched souls, whatever. But despite the similarities, he was really eager to get home to his own world with its notable differences. He craved the sight of his children’s grins and giggles, his deviously brilliant and beautiful wife, and the hard lines and warm smell of the Texan who’d squirmed his way into Misha’s helter-skelter life without any indication that he was going anywhere. No matter which universe he was in. 

Misha laughed out loud suddenly. _And I thought my life was complicated before!_ He laughed some more. Castiel was watching him, bemused but not bothering to ask why he was laughing. They were both giddy in their own way. Perhaps it was another rub-off of their being physically close—who knew?

“So, what do you want to do until Dean’s done with the oil?” Mish asked sweetly.

Castiel set him with an admonishing grin, “Are you being suggestive?” He teased.

Misha sniggered, “No. Would you rather that?”

The mirth gave way to disquiet, “I don’t know.” Castiel exhaled sharply through his nose, becoming contemplative. “It’s been a very… stimulating, emotionally-complex day.”

Misha certainly agreed with that. Adding to it the dose of blinding pain he’d received. “Are you sorry that I ended up here?” He asked suddenly.

Castiel’s stare narrowed. The angel’s hand reached out quick and sure pulling Misha against him, “Definitely…” Castiel kissed him, “not…” and again, “sorry.” The final kiss brought back the resurgence of tingles and frantic heartbeat as before. He was pretty sure Castiel’s proximity set his soul on vibrate mode and that was the cause for the sensation akin to shoving a wet finger into a light-socket. _But in a good way._

Reality blurred, bodies pressed, and he felt hardness against him, breath on his lips, inside his mouth, a tongue moving warm and hungry inside. When Cas grabbed his ass, Misha couldn’t stop the sudden laughter that erupted out of him, ruining the kiss completely and the dizzying experience.

Cas looked befuddled. Misha shook with laughter until he choked, stopped, and turned grave on a dime. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just, you grabbed my ass and this whole thing suddenly became so ridiculous.” He rambled faster, “Don’t get me wrong, I like it. I friggin’ love it! I’m just… uhh… readjusting to how exponentially cracked-out my life has become.” He sucked in a breath at the end of his rant.

Cas gave him a tiny smile. “I understand.” His words soft and light. “I’ll give you some space.”

The angel walked away before Misha could refute. In truth, he was grateful for the time alone. He needed to reset his bearings. He felt guilty but sidled with an understanding of everything lessened the heavy weight of actual betrayal. Jensen would understand, Misha was certain, the second he saw Cas… he would know. He’d feel it. It was all kinds of crazy and weird but he felt it—bone deep—he knew.

The concept of soul-mates rolled around in his head and he found it hard to deny the truth of it. It was indefinable but irrefutable. That goddamn soul drew him in like nothing else, and he needed it like air. He remembered with aching clarity the first time he and Jensen had shed their clothes and that first full-bodied skin on skin touch warmed through him. It had been unlike anything else, and maybe now he knew why. He smiled.

Misha trailed a hand over the wood table, feeling the small scratches, and lost himself in the memories of his own fall.

**/\/\/\**

Dean was lucky he had nearly thirty years of mechanical experience under his belt that he was able to change the oil without paying an ounce of attention to what he was doing, his mind otherwise occupied. The first roll of images had been unfettered, unadulterated, skinemax Porn with a capital ‘P’. The steamy thoughts didn’t last and soon they drifted to worries, to legit contemplation of what-the-fuck was going on.

“Dean—”

“—Ow!” He yelped, wincing from smoking his head on the hard and greasy underside of the car at the angel’s unannounced entrance.

“Jesus, Cas… warn a guy!” He barked, rolling out from under the car.

Cas was standing by the driver’s door, staring down at him. Dean glanced away nervously and got up off the ground, rubbing the dust off but smearing the grease in turn. He sighed at the stain before bringing his eyes upwards.

“I hope you have cash by the way. An oil change is sixty bucks.” He stepped over and grabbed a rag off the table two feet away and wiped his hands. The oil stayed etched into the dry crevices of his fingers and knuckles.

“I’m sorry Dean, I have no money.” Cas quipped back.

Dean recapped the empty oil jug and tossed it into the bin behind the car. “Well, guess you’ll have to learn how to do it yourself.” He responded on auto-mouth. He could sense a conversation was brewing…

“Dean.” _There it is_. That deep voice all low and distracting. Dean swallowed and turned to face the angel. He was a mess, they were a mess. Everything was all… upside down. He might have endless material for the spank bank, but the feeling in his chest wasn’t right.

“Why did you brush me off before?” Dean asked, feeling the strain of unease tighten his words. “Fessing up like that wasn’t easy for me and all you said was: ‘ _not now’_ and _‘we’ll talk later’_ ,” he grumbled. “And not even ten hours later you’re all…” Dean gestured down over his body and looked away. “What gives?” He lifted a shoulder, stressed and agitated.

Cas took a step forward, Dean mimicked in retreat. They frowned at each other.

“Dean, before, when I… hesitated— _brushed you off_ —I was… uncertain…, worried that I wasn’t truly what you wanted; in the everyday sense as opposed to some abstract notion.” Cas sucked in a breath, fisting and relaxing his hands by his side. “I didn’t think you’d want this, feelings aside, I…

“I was angry that you’d never acted on anything with me—and I thought I knew why—but two seconds into this world and you were a mess for him.” Cas paused, losing his momentum.

“When I realized who he was… I lost the ire and realized that in a way you had acted on something with… me… _sort of_ … but evidently something about Misha specifically had pushed you over the edge.” Cas smiled sheepishly. “So I asked him… and that was when he showed me the memory from the kitchen.” And then Dean witnessed that glorious blush, reddening Cas’ cheeks, and Dean very nearly took a step forward. He clamped down on the urge. They needed to get this over with… Dean needed to know where he stood, and apparently so did Cas.

“So you believe me when I say that I want you… in the _every fucking day_ sense of the word?”  Cas dipped his head once, smiling brightly. “You absolutely want me? Even though I’m sort of fucked up and my relationships usually turn to shit?” He pressed further and Cas nodded fervently, beaming, his blue eyes practically glowing.

Dean sighed, the weight lifted. “Cas, you don’t need to… muddle my brain for me to want you… or act on it or whatever.”

“Obviously I do.” Castiel argued pleasantly.

“Yes, okay, Misha… pushed me. And in a very physically alluring way… but you could have said something. Like you told me earlier, I wasn’t gonna be the one to go over that line. Look at me Cas, I am _not_ a poster-child for healthy communication!” His arms outstretched as he continued, “But if you’d told me straight-up that you wanted this—“ He gestured between them, “—I woulda been so on board with that. In an instant, Cas. Really.”

“You weren’t the only one who was afraid of rejection.” Cas said quietly.

Dean scrunched his face in confusion, “But you knew I liked you.”

“I knew how you felt, but as I said, feelings notwithstanding, you still could’ve rejected me with some bull-shit about our lives and relationships being a bad combination.”

“It is a bad combination.” Dean stated automatically. _That shit was obvious._

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes. “Exactly. Hence my… withholding status.”

“I feel like we’re going around in circles.” Dean rubbed his face, probably getting black streaks on it.

“Yes, emotions are very complex.” Cas mirrored affably.

“Alright, alright… in plain English: you want me, I want you. You thought I wouldn’t accept you because I think relationships are doomed and people die, yadda yadda—which isn’t totally off-the-mark FYI—and I was just being dumbass me and ignoring everything completely. That sound about right to you?” Dean heard the rudeness in his voice, the clipped words, but fuck if he wasn’t getting a damn headache. There was a reason he avoided shit like this. He loved Cas, hands-down, head-over-heels, stupid kind of love. But this conversation gave him an itch.

Cas breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes.” The word strong and sure.

“So where are we now then?” Dean turned his hands palm-out in invitation.

“I want everything.” Castiel said with unrestrained yearning.

Dean was pin-wheeling into something big-time serious. But he wanted this… he really wanted this. Misha had opened him to this need, the unstoppable force of something that he would never be able to ignore again.

“I’m yours, Cas.” He forced the words out, all implications loaded and ready. The air struggled to find his lungs, and jesus-fuck it was a direct pipe, he thought as he inhaled feeling a tremor. “I’ve always been yours.” He swallowed the viscous air that wouldn’t go down on its own.

Dean took a step forward and then remembered he was greasy and stopped. He felt anxious and nauseous. With Misha, all this had been easy and steady like riding a bike.  In a way it made sense. Misha and Jensen already had something and it was comfortable… just like that god-awful John Mayer song.

But with Cas, he faltered, because he wasn’t used to it. There was no familiar flow of movement. They stared at each other, hesitating, unsure.

With a flare of anger, and maybe a little fear, Dean cursed and stomped forward. Cas’ eyes widened as Dean went straight for him. He didn’t hesitate, couldn’t, or he might very well lose the courage he’d managed to scrounge up. Dean grabbed and pulled until Cas was perfectly molded against his front and then he tipped Cas’ head back using the hand clutching the back of his neck. He arched them slightly in his need to be closer and stared into Cas’ excited blue eyes, “I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life than I want you.”

Dean crashed against Cas’ mouth, hard and pressing—a proclamation if ever there was one. Cas’ lips were firm and persistent against his own, moving together with a synchronicity that spoke volumes. They opened up at the same time; a flood of hot air finding its way into the cavern of his mouth and he sucked it down. Sighing, almost a whimper, Dean slipped his tongue between the connection finding a slick, warm one meet his. Cas moaned deep and rubbed against him. The dry lips turned glossy as Dean devoured him, controlling the kiss with his lips and tongue, his hands holding Cas’ head and neck, securing him in place as the kiss took a turn for the wild. Dean fucked his tongue into the hot softness of Cas’ mouth, tasting him and wishing he’d done this so long ago.

His fingers delved into that messy dark crop of hair, playing with it, pulling on it. He bit at Cas’ plump pink lips, licked at his tongue and thrust against him, groaning heavily at the solid lengths rubbing between them. Cas’ superior strength took him by surprise and Dean found himself being manhandled, a pressing weight on his back, a sharp pinch at the back of his head, a tongue pushing into his mouth, demanding and needy. The domination was mind-numbingly awesome. Dean was shoved into something hard—

A crash of metal, clanging loudly, cleared his head of the arousal-laced daze. Dean tore away from Cas’ mouth reluctantly finding the angel absolutely debauched. Pupils blown out wide, hair a disaster.  _All because of me…_

“Oh my God…” Dean rolled his eyes in a dizzying motion, hissing in excitement, wanting so much more. Wanting to grab and hold and taste… “Cas… you’re… _fuck_ …” He remembered the dilemma, “Fuck, we need to leave.” Dean forced his breathing to return to normal, but his heart was still pounding away. Cas’ eyes roamed over him and Dean chuckled low. “This is _sooo_ not the end of this.” Cas’ answering smile was warm and un-hinged.

Cas pressed into him once more, “No it most certainly is not.” Dean bit his lower lip and groaned at the sexiness of Cas’ voice.

Dean felt his blood turn cool wondering what the hell would happen with Misha now. Things had gone from the ideal of a porn-worthy climax to just a teensy-bit uncomfortable in reality.

“You look confused.” Cas observed, wiping his mouth of Dean’s sloppy, urgent kiss. The angel’s cheeks were flushed and Dean took a side-trip in his head wondering what other cheeks would look like tinged red. Cas’ reticent grin gave him away. _Stop listening_ , he chastised.

Out loud this time: “Yeah… so about Misha…” He trailed off purposely.

“What about him?”

“Well… this all started because… ya know.” Dean raised a brow.

“Ahh…yes… don’t stop on my account. I know why you feel the way you do, and him as well, and I’m not bothered by it—in fact I think we can agree that it makes perfect sense. Besides, he likely won’t be here much longer so take that time with him.” Cas smirked and looked away, “I might also.”

Dean’s brain flew right out the window and the blood in his veins took a detour downstairs. _Guuuh_ … What?

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Dean sputtered, blinking rapidly.

“Something about our connection, our equivalency, is deliriously gratifying in proximity.” Cas explained.  Well, _Duh._ The goddamn lights were flickering. As long as they didn’t blow each other up, Dean had no problems with the two of them getting up close and personal… with themselves. It was like ultimate masturbation. He couldn’t deny that he’d given the idea a fleeting thought when Zachariah had sent him to the future and he’d met his bad-ass, asshole self.

“Yeah that was pretty obvious,” he said, “and might I add… the single fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”   

Deep blue eyes turned downright sinful and Dean was on the verge of growling and attacking him in the hopes of easing the throbbing he felt, but he held himself in check. _Barely_.

“Let’s go.” Cas said, lowering his head to peer up at Dean tauntingly through his lashes. Fuck, whatever inside knowledge Misha had given Cas was in dangerous hands now… Dean was at his mercy and they both knew it.

They made their way back upstairs finding Misha lounging in one of the chairs, eyes closed but awake.

“We’re all ready to go.” Dean announced. Things felt unfinished, twitchy between the three of them. In separate pieces they all fit together nicely, but rounded up, it was like the arc of a whip in the air just before it careens down to snap. He was waiting for the crack.

Cas made his way over to Misha and regarded him with absolute affection, “Thank you.” He said quietly, still loud enough for it to reach Dean’s ears. The angel pressed a kiss to Misha’s surprised mouth, a quick peck. The action a repeat of his words.

Dean decided to interrupt the way-too intense setting with a dirty tangent, “Ya know, Sam used to always tease me that I confused reality with porn. Pretty sure I can totally look at him now and go: _HA_!” Dean pointed at them, smirking confidently.

Cas levelled him with a flat glare. Dean squirmed, suddenly abashed.

“I bet you sometimes wonder why you even like me, huh?” Dean asked timidly, sporting a half-grin.

“Occasionally.” Cas replied a little too easily.

Misha chuckled, “Oh God, what have I done?” The actor glanced at his feet and shook his head.

“Okay… putting aside... ya know… this.” Dean spewed over uncomfortably, “We need to pull this list of ingredients together. So let’s all take some cold showers—and I’m referring to you too by the way—and get our heads on straight.” He relaxed under the familiar pattern of getting a job done. “Cas, you call if you run into trouble gettin’ magical unicorn blood or whatever, Mish and I will get some of this,” He said, lifting the scribble of ingredients written on the back of an envelope, “And I’ll ask Sam to get whatever else we’re missing on his way back. Capiche?” He hit them with a hard stare and a straight set of his jaw.

“Yes, we _capiche._ ” Cas took his keys from Dean’s outstretched hand. “It might take me a couple days… it’s a long drive.” The angel grimaced excessively, “A very long drive.” The aversion to human travel obviously still bothered him. Fortunately Dean liked the open road, especially in the middle of the night when everything was calm and serene.

Not ten minutes later, Cas had left in his freshly tuned pimp-mobile and Dean had led Misha outside to go commit some grand-theft auto. It was sad about all the wasted wheels at the bunker, including Dorothy’s sweet ride, but Dean just hadn’t had the time to order new tires and parts, and change all the fluids. He wished fixing cars was something he and Sam could do together. Then again, Sam didn’t seem to want to do much with him lately anyway, still sore about what had happened. Dean didn’t blame him for getting pissed, but enough is enough already. 

The night was crisp, nearing midnight, and despite the chill in the air that cleared his lungs, Dean’s blood felt hot. It would’ve been nice to say it was because of all the kissing and pornographic imagery but he knew better. He rubbed the Mark absently through his jacket. He felt Misha’s eyes on him, but the actor wisely said nothing.

It didn’t take Dean long to find what he needed, reaching in through an already open window of the dark purple Oldsmobile to pop the lock. _Why do people even bother locking their cars if they’re gonna leave the damn window open?_ _Probably because they don’t expect people (me) to steal their car,_ he answered for himself.

“Well… I’ve never committed a felony worthy of serious jail-time so I can cross that off my bucket-list,” Mish declared as they got in and Dean ripped off the plastic cover underneath the steering wheel. Dean grunted non-committally, focused on getting the car started before they were caught. He hated doing it this way because once you cut those wires and got the car started, the key wouldn’t work without repairs. But _eeh_ , that’s what insurance was for, right?

“Do you ever feel guilty? You and Sam have stolen a lot of cars.” Misha observed, “Not to mention the fraud. Do you even pay taxes?” Dean fixed him with a _you-can’t-be-serious_ glower. Mish nodded to himself. “Right… no taxes for the Winchesters.”

“We’re not exactly every-day Joes here.” Dean asserted as they drove off and he began fiddling with the controls to find something suitable to listen to. Stone Temple Pilots poured through the speakers, _Interstate Love Song_ and he figured the station was tolerable—he’d have to change it in an hour or so anyway when the signal faded. His right forearm, where the Mark was ominously etched onto his skin, ached during the entire drive and he kept having to switch hands on the wheel, or clench his fist to get the blood flowing better. Misha gave a barefaced scowl, the lead-up to his inevitable: “So are we gonna talk about this?” which Dean responded to with a resounding _no_. He was having a perfect day for the most part—love is in the air and all that jazz. Something about Mish and Cas’ sheer presence, declarations aside, made him feel better. Talking about the goddamn Mark would only piss him off, turning him into a dick and he didn’t want that now.

The guy Dean used for supplies in this part of the country was only three hours away. They drove through the night, mostly silent, listening to the hum of the tires over the asphalt, the low music changing the atmosphere inside the car with each new song.

_Lullaby_ by Shawn Mullins switched on and Dean thought about high school. If only he could go back and talk to his younger self… the stories he’d have, the warnings, the stern lecture he’d give that idiot for sure.

He felt Mish’s stare and angled his head to the side, giving those blue eyes a private smile in the dark.

“Stop humming and sing.” Mish demanded. Dean huffed a quiet laugh. For anyone else he wouldn’t, but he knew it wouldn’t be the first time Mish had heard him sing, even though it was. Parallel worlds were a _straaaange_ thing.

He picked up at the chorus, “Everything's gonna be all right… rockabye…rockabye…” He sang. Misha rested back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

Dean let his voice carry out into the car, “She still lives with her mom…Outside the city…Down that street about a half a mile…And all her friends tell her… She's so pretty…But she'd be a whole lot prettier…If she smiled once in a while,” Dean smiled at his passenger and saw the closed-lidded smile in return. “`Cause even her smile looks like a frown…She's seen her share of devils…In this _ang-el_ town,” Dean emphasized the word angel with a groping hand on Mish’ thigh.

“Geez, you’re supposed to be putting me to sleep, not turning me on.” Mish bit his upper lip and smacked Dean’s hand away. Dean grinned back, playful.

“Keep singing, radio.” Mish commanded before resolutely leaning back and closing his eyes. Dean should probably be paying more attention to the road… but this moment was too awesome. Too perfect. He’d kissed Cas… well, let’s be honest, he’d attacked Cas and rumpled him thoroughly and he had very precise plans to do more of that as soon as he got the chance. But _this_ … this was still something he cherished.

He grimaced, pausing in the midst of a line he’d been singing, “Ugh, we’re all gonna die.” He droned.

Misha curled his lip and turned on him, “Well that was morose.”

Dean shrugged, “I’m too happy. It isn’t right. Fate is smiling down on me and saying, ‘ _Oh you just wait Winchester….’_ ” Dean raised his eyebrows at Misha. The actor couldn’t deny that… he’d seen the damn show.

“Stop worrying, you’re going to give yourself an ulcer.” Mish harassed and then settled back into the seat, obviously not giving Dean’s qualms any credence. _Everything was so totally not going to be alright_ , he thought cynically.

Misha shifted in his seat so that he could be comfortable and watch Dean at the same time. He reached across the center console to grab Dean’s bicep, squeezing it before moving up to his shoulder, stretching towards him, and rubbing the back of his neck. Dean moaned at how good it felt, arching his head back into the touch.

“You’re awesome.” He breathed, laying on the charm in a wide, inviting smile. Misha gave a low chuckle and stretched over, pulling Dean at the same time so that he could kiss beside his ear. He paused with his forehead resting against the side of Dean’s head.

“I’ll miss you.” The words were whisper quiet. Nervous even. Dean swallowed knowing how he felt.

“You’ll still have me… sort of.” He reasoned. The interior of the car felt very private, holding their conversation and heated glances inside its metal walls and tempered glass. Dean was tempted to keep the car as some weird token of this odd relationship that would end in a matter of days. Some couples kept movie-stamps; Dean was going to keep a stolen car. No one could say he didn’t do anything half-assed.

Mish absently ran his fingers over Dean as they drove and talked. “There are a shocking amount of similarities…” He continued, “Little things that I can’t begin to list, and this weight in my heart when I’m near you… it’s like even if you didn’t look the same I would know you… anywhere. But still… you are different.” He worded clearly. “Your past has made you something unique and I will miss you Dean. Precisely, and uniquely you.”

Well, _shucks_ , Dean thought. It was damn good it was the middle of the night because he was pretty certain his freckles were all freckly with the rush of blood to his face.

He wet his lips with a pass of his tongue, “I’ll miss you too.” Dean took a deep breath, letting silence for the most part fill the car.

Dean continued to hum and sing softly in lazy, off-kilter patterns, depending on the song or the lyrics. With an hour left in the drive, Mish had fallen asleep, his hand resting on Dean’s thigh, their fingers twined together, his sleep-drawn features turned to face Dean.

_What a day…_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the lack of smut in this Chapter, there is more to come, I promise you. And, of course, more of the actual story to play out. Dean and Cas will resolve things ... ahem... physically... soon.


	7. One line too many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's off getting ingredients for the spell. Misha and Dean get sidetracked... naturally. Sam notices something's wrong. And if that wasn't bad enough... it only gets worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Tennyo, you're the best. ;)
> 
> Thank you to all the reviewers, seriously you guys are f'n awesome. I love that this story has expanded so much, and honestly, it's all thanks to you guys for loving the idea so much. As a bonus, I've sort of written myself into being a Dean/Misha shipper now lol.

****

Dean tugged his jacket tighter around his body. _Fuck it's cold,_ he thought, jogging across the street to the derelict house of one Mr. Reo Alvarez, a crazy Mexican with a military buzz cut, a closet full of army green and black, and a horde of supernatural weapons and other necessities. He and Sam had met Reo back when his dad had still been around. The guy was an excellent marksman but after he’d gotten into a bad brawl with some toothy fuckers, he wasn’t in optimal physical condition for hunting anymore, so he’d become a Bobby of sorts, selling and dealing with their mish-mash of fighters of the big and bad.

Dean rapped on the door, turning back to look at the car parked across the street. He’d left Mish sleeping in the passenger seat because he simply couldn’t bear to drag him into this life any more than necessary.

Beside the door, a tiny metal flap flew up and a box-tray shot out four inches. The tin tray contained a knife and a vial of water… holy water no doubt.

“You know the drill Winchester.” Alvarez said through the door. Dean nodded and made quick work of the slice and holy shower. He showed his arms, red blood, no burning from the water, and grinned.

“You gonna let me in, or what?” Dean did his best impression of staring through the fiberglass. Several locks disengaged and the heavy steel door swung inwards.

Dean stepped into the large entrance and was immediately enclosed inside a wall of muscle, big thick Schwarzenegger arms squeezing around him, “You’re lookin’ good bro’.” The supplier said, clapping him warmly on the back. Dean did the same and pulled back. It’d been a few months seen he’d had to make a trip.

“Thanks, you too. Getting out much?” Dean looked around and thought… _no_ , judging by the piles of newspapers stacked neatly into some kind of OCD pattern. Dude was meticulous. 

“I steer clear. Lotsa crazy fuckers out there, but ’course, you know that, amigo.” He said smiling, his accent strong still despite having lived in the US for nearly forty years.

“Yeah… Any info for me while I’m here?” Dean asked, moving through the living room to get to the back of the house where the stairs to the basement were.

Alvarez followed at his back, “Nah man, I hear you’re tryin’ to snuff the new God, yeah?”

Dean grunted a noncommittal, “That’s the plan, except, well, we got no plan.”

“S’always the case, isn’t it?”

“Seems to be.”

The two made their way into the basement and Dean listed off the things he needed, including the faery teeth, which caused the buzz-cut dealer to narrow his dark brown eyes.

“Faery teeth?” He repeated, like… you’re a crazy mother.

“Yeah, yeah I know… It’s heavy shit. You got any?”

Alvarez smiled genially and walked towards the back, opening another door after moving a metal shelving unit on casters.

“Dare I ask what you need this for?”

Dean hesitated, not wanting to bring outsiders into anything that had to do with Cas. He had a protective streak... could you really blame him? Your father handing you your baby brother at the age of four, saying _run_ , while your mother burns above your head is enough on its own to give you a complex… let alone all the other shit that’d happened since then.

“Afraid I can’t say.” He finally said. The other man accepted that with a purse of his lips and a lift of his shoulders. He turned to his right and Dean copied the action, both now facing a red, ornately carved cherrywood box.

“I’ve got enough in here for anythin’ you need, but I don’t recommend opening the box until right before. Them faeries are vengeful beasts and they’ll come for ya if they sense you have this.” He warned, passing the warded box to Dean.

“I’ll get the rest you need. You got cash, or are we tradin’ today?” The two walked back into the main room, where Alvarez rummaged through various boxes and Tupperware, extricating the things he needed and bagging them.

“Got nothin’ to trade, cash’ll be it today.” Dean reached into his back pocket, grabbing the wad of bills he already had ready.

He passed it over and after a cursory glance at the heft, the man nodded, satisfied, and pocketed the green.

Five minutes later Dean was at the front door with a flowery wood box and a paper bag full of everything else. Alvarez reached over for a one-armed goodbye, grabbing his shoulder when he pulled away and looked hard into Dean’s face.

“Be careful, amigo.”

Dean nodded, “You too.”

/\/\/\

The door slammed and Misha jolted awake. It was still dark and he was mildly disoriented. He turned and saw Dean reach down to reconnect the wires he’d obviously had to pull apart when they’d parked.

“Where are we?” He asked, yawning loudly.

Dean turned to him, “Just leaving from my guy’s place. Got everything we need.”

“That’s good. You left me in the car.” He noted offensively.

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

Dean sighed impatiently, “Because I don’t want you any more in this than you already are. Don’t pout.” He said softly, reaching over to grab Misha’s chin and pull him in for a quick kiss before he steered the car away from the curb.

“I’m not useless.” Misha stared at him blank-faced.

“It has nothing to do with that. You could be Superman and I still would’ve left you in the car.” Dean flicked the dial, turning the radio back on, only to find it set on some late-night call-in show.

The song macho man started playing in Misha’s head and he chuckled softly, turning to the window.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, reaching over to squeeze his thigh, leaving his hand there.

“You act so alpha-male,” Misha teased, “and in many ways you are, but in bed…” Misha moaned suggestively, “you’re usually the opposite, always love getting manhandled… ugh… I love it.” Well… he was speaking mostly about Jensen but Dean was similar in that regard too, a little more subtle of course. Then again, Misha had been with Jensen for years now and after that long you sort gave up skirting around things you wanted and just came right out and said it. Nothing subtle about: ‘ _Mish, babe, fuck me hard…really hard… like, let’s seriously try to break the bed.’_

They had BTW.

Dean pressed the brakes as they came up to a useless red light. The middle of night left the roads deserted and it seemed weird to sit there waiting at a vacant intersection. Dean turned to Misha, rubbing his leg gently. “So am I forgiven then for leaving you in the car and acting all _macho_?” He asked.

“Only if you let me manhandle you…” Misha winked.

Dean’s cheeks turned red. He hit the gas and they shot forward. “I think that can be arranged.” He swaggered, voice all smooth and tempting.

Looking at the clock on the dash, it showed 4:16. “Would it be ultra-tacky for me to suggest we find a hotel?” Misha emphasized his meaning by reaching over to press into Dean’s crotch, feeling the curve of his dick beneath the worn jeans. Dean blinked and refocused on the road.

“As long as it’s not pay by the hour…” He smirked, grinding up into Misha’s hand.

/\/\/\

Dean hadn’t slept at all since the night before so it was good they were bunking down for a few hours. Unfortunately he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a ton of sleeping going on but at least he’d signed on for Mish doing most of the work, he wasn’t complaining.

After they checked in, Mish went into the room and headed to the washroom. Dean hit speed-dial one for Sam.

It rang twice before his brother picked up, “Dean, hey, what’s goin’ on?”

“Just made a run by Alvarez. We have a spell… should work, according to Cas anyway. I need you to pick up some stuff though on the way back if you don’t mind.” Dean spoke while digging through his bag for the toiletries he always had with him. Fuck… he should ditch the car in the morning, he usually didn’t keep them this long.

“Yeah sure, no problem. Text me the list. D’ya think Cas is right?” Sam asked, and in the small space of silence, Dean could hear the rumble of the Impala in the background.

He sat down on the bed, heard the shower turn on in the bathroom. “I hope so.” He shrugged even though Sam couldn’t see him.

“You okay?” Sam asked, the concern softening his voice in a way Dean hadn’t heard in a while.

“Well… it’s been an interesting couple of days.” He said by way of explanation.

“I’ll bet.” Sam laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Anything I should know?”

Dean sighed into the phone. No way was he answering that land mine.

“Let’s shelve that discussion for now.” Or forever. Rubbing the space between his eyes, he continued. “I’ll text you the list and let me know when you’re almost home, alright?”

“’Course. See ya tomorrow sometime.” Sam said and ended the call. Dean lowered his phone and typed out the stuff he couldn’t get from Alvarez. Hitting send, he then tossed his phone onto the bed and picked up his small bag with a bar of soap stuck inside a waterlogged cardboard box that used to say Irish Spring on it, now it looked like it had been chewed. He normally had the used bars in Zip-locs but he’d run out on their last job.

Stepping into the steamy bathroom, he called out. “Hey, getting all clean for me or something?”

“I’m trying… there’s no soap in this crappy dump, you have some?” Mish’s dark wet hair and equally wet face peeked out from behind the shower curtain. Dean took the two steps with the bar of soap held behind his back. He angled his face forward and pursed his lips, Misha laughed and kissed him. “Soap, please?”

Dean grinned and placed it in his waiting palm, before moving back to the sink to brush his teeth.

“I wonder what Jensen will say when he meets Cas.” Misha wondered aloud as he showered. Dean paused with his toothbrush hanging from his mouth, toothpaste leaking at the corner of his lips.

Dean garbled an _‘I don’t know’_.

“And what about you?” Misha asked.

Dean spat and rinsed his mouth, putting the green toothbrush back in its case. “What about me?” He started removing his clothes, folding them and placing them on top of Misha’s.

“What are you going to say to yourself?” Misha clarified as Dean climbed into the shower and got under the spray.

“How about: _‘Thanks for sharing_ ’?” Dean answered with smirk, running his hands through his hair to get it fully wet.

Misha laughed, “I wouldn’t lead with that.”

They finished showering quickly. While the idea of fun times in the shower was intriguing, it was a lot of work and Dean was tired and looking forward to whatever Misha planned in the way of manhandling.

Towel-dried and warm, Dean grabbed at the damp skin of Mish’s waist, pulling him close; their chests sticking together from the humidity in the bathroom.

He leaned down into a kiss, slowly licking into Misha’s mouth, running his hands over his smooth lower back. Misha’s arms curved around Dean’s neck in an embrace, pulling him closer.

Dean felt Cas’ twin-self lift higher, pressing up against Dean’s chest and moaning heavily into his mouth. At the height of the kiss turning a little deeper, a little rougher, Dean broke off and peered into his eyes.

“Can I be manhandled now?”

Misha grinned wide and pulled the hair at the back of his neck. “With pleasure…” He crooned.

His hands were pushed behind his back, held at the wrists and Misha used his chest to push Dean backwards into the room. Warm lips and tongue attacked Dean’s neck the second his legs hit the end of the bed. The actor held his hands low, pushing them against his own ass over the rough towel secured on his hips.

The air cooled his shower-warmed skin and emphasized the hot mouth traveling over him. Teeth pinched his nipple, which turned hard and sent shivers rippling through him.

Misha let go of his hands with a look. Dean smiled and linked his own fingers together to keep them where they were. Misha sank to his knees and glanced up devilishly. He leaned forward and kissed Dean through the towel before unhooking the corner of it near Dean’s hip. The white towel fell to the floor, freeing his erection.

Avoiding Dean’s straining length, Misha stood up. He used the back of his hand to fold Dean’s cock up between them so they could come together.

Those blue eyes stared into him. Misha’s hands reached around and unlatched his submissive stance. He threaded his fingers with Dean’s, pulling their joint hands far to the side.

“On your knees, Winchester.” Misha commanded in a husky voice. Dean inched forward, a rumbling in his chest as he fought to get to Misha’s mouth. Their lips smashed together, a rough kiss before Dean dropped down in front of him.

Sensing what he wanted, Dean used his teeth to take off the towel. It landed on the floor. Now wonderfully naked, Misha let go of his hands, grabbed his face and bent down to kiss him in a hot vulgar display of tongue. 

Hands gripped under Dean’s arms and then he was hoisted up and shoved backwards onto the bed, his back landing with a bounce. He pushed himself up closer to the top of the bed. Misha moved towards him with a predatory heat in his gaze. Dean’s legs were pushed apart and dark, wet hair dropped down to his inner thigh. Mish kissed and sucked hard at the nearly hairless skin.

Dean was teased with a slow mouth and massaging hands, groping and sucking his entire body until he was nearly shaking with the desire to be touched in specific places.

“Please touch me…” Dean begged, thumping his legs up and down irritably, pushing his hips up to display red swollen parts being neglected.

Misha linked their hands together and stretched Dean’s arms out to the side, pushing him into the bed. He was sprawled out like an offering.

A mixture of heat and affection rained down on him as blue eyes lowered. A wicked tongue took command of his mouth and he let it.

Misha descended in a slide of naked skin against him. A muscular thigh rubbed against Dean’s engorged dick and he whimpered into the open mouth attached to his.

The mouth vanished; his eyes flashed open, “I want you… all the way. _Now_.” Dean licked his lips, praying that Misha would give them this.

The sad look deflated all hope. “Not tonight babe.” Misha said, laying a loving kiss on his cheek.

Releasing his hands, Misha moved down his body, showering him with touch… A hand finally enclosed his cock, stroking firm and Dean lost coherent thought, grinding mindless into the warmth.

“Look at me.” The hand paused. Dean looked down at Misha, kneeling between his legs.

The man overriding his senses went one torturous step further and licked the bead of precum from the tip of his cock. The actor’s sinful tongue stroked right over the slit before swirling around the head and closing over him in a flood of heat. Dean groaned and his hands automatically reached out for Misha’s dark brown mess of hair, still damp from the shower. He strained his pelvis, flexed the muscles of his ass and thighs as the pressure built up. Misha sucked him down slow, staring darkly upwards towards Dean’s green eyes watching the show.

The pace picked up, Misha breathing roughly through his nose, wet noises becoming thick in the sultry motel room. Dean moaned in a broken, rocky sound as Misha sucked hard. His legs started to shake and Dean knew he was getting close. His fingers gripped tighter, fisting Misha’s hair—now sticking up in all directions.

His eyes squeezed shut, his body pulled taught and, and _,_ … _and_ then the crest of pleasure crumbled as cool air hit the sensitive skin of his cock. Misha had sat up. Dean exhaled in frustration.

“Mmmm.. no, no, no, keep going.” He begged without shame.

“Turn over.” Misha requested, already moving Dean anyway, pushing him onto his front with a firm hold of his hips, grabbing his legs and rearranging them.

The resounding _yeessss!_ rang through his head and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he was going to get fucked… by Misha. And it would be awesome. Awesome, awesome, awe—

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Misha laughed darkly, yanking him into a hands and knees position. His breathing sputtered with anticipation and a small bit of embarrassment, feeling more exposed than before. It felt good though, the one thing about sex that he’d always enjoyed was the lack of boundaries, and total trust that existed when it was with the right person. It didn’t matter now; Misha could do whatever he wanted and Dean would let him.

Misha moved up behind him and ran a hand down his spine, lower until he was grabbing his ass, parted his cheeks and then Dean felt a hot rigid shaft slide against the crease of his ass. Dean pressed back, looking over his shoulder to see Misha smiling down at the view.

“You’re teasing yourself,” said Dean, grinning wide.

“I know… can’t help it.” Biting his lip, he landed a hard slap against Dean’s ass.

Unexpected.

But _very_ welcome. Dean made a shameless, wanton noise… _Fuck, is that me?_ It had been a good hard smack. _Damn…_

The sliding of Misha’s hard dick rubbing over his hole had him tightening his hips and thighs, and then the wonderful rough sensation was gone.

Misha leaned down and bit hard on his right cheek, causing him to laugh and moan at the same time. A hand found its way around Dean’s hips and enclosed his erection in a smooth fist. He jerked Dean exactly the way he liked it. _Thank you Jensen_ , he thought.

Misha’s tongue licked a stripe over his right cheek before biting again. He did this several times, moving closer to his clearly intended destination. The thought left Dean squirming a little whorishly—and, really, he was already on his fuckin’ hands and knees. The first swipe of wet tongue over his clenching entrance was combined with a hard stroke of Misha’s hand. Dean cried out, trembling on all fours.

“Christ, your tongue should come with a warning label…” He panted, looking down to see Misha’s hand sliding over his heavy cock and the bit of the actor’s lean body that Dean could see between his spread legs.

“So fuck- _ing_ hot…” said Dean, reaching down to wrap around Misha’s hand so they could work him together.

Using his only free hand, Misha pulled Dean open for his tongue, pressing into him, the slippery muscle pushed inside. Dean shuddered, the one arm holding him up collapsed and he landed on his elbow, the shift brought the sinful touch further inside of him. Dean’s orgasm rushed forward but he wasn’t ready for it— _not yet, not yet_ —he tensed, felt Misha reach down to squeeze around the base of his shaft and tugged once on his tight sac to pull him back from the brink.

The world flipped around with Misha turning him onto his back again, pushing his legs up and to the side, “Hold your knees.” _Yes sir_. Misha swallowed back his own obvious need.

“Fuck… Mish, you’re killin’ me…” He complained; his voice all gravel.

“Wait till Cas has you…” Misha teased with a wink, running a finger along the inside dip of his groin, pressing behind the tendon with his thumb. A hand stroked possessively over the curve of his ass.

They stared intensely at one another; all sorts of images coming to mind. Misha smiled knowingly.

Dean grabbed his own knees and waited. A hot mouth closed over him again, sucking deep, humming loud around his cock and he jerked up hard by accident. Misha pulled off and smiled. Dean apologized with a soft chuckle and they resumed—except now there was a hand firmly holding him in place. A finger, and then quickly two, pushed into his ass, stretching him open. If he thought Misha had been driving him crazy before… it got worse.

That gorgeous mouth, so hot and wet sucked on him fast, moving up and down with tight lips and a talented tongue. Two saliva-slick fingers plunged into him over and over again. Outer knuckles slammed hard against his ass in a fierce pounding, radiating a delicious ache throughout his pelvis. Dean yelled at the overwhelming amount of sensation soaring through him… everything rough, his body feverish and sweaty, Misha battering pleasure into him every fucking second. 

He bucked his hips, straining, thigh muscles going rigid, toes curled. He couldn’t stop making noise, crying out with every gush of blinding arousal. _Fuck_ , it was too much. What threw him over was Misha reaching up and pushing his thumb into Dean’s open mouth. At the same time the actor deep-throated and increased the pace of those jack-hammering two fingers.

Dean barked out a guttural sound, more animal than human as he came.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck………………_

The first surge of come was swallowed down, a throat tightening around him before Misha pulled off. Dean grabbed himself, feeling his cock pulse with each spurt, his muscles clamping down around Misha’s fucking fan- _TASTIC_ fingers, wetness splattered on his chest and stomach, the warmth of it cooling quickly. He heaved air like it was going out of style, his chest expanding wide. _Fuckin’ hell…_

Before coming back down to planet earth, he felt hot splashes land against his spasming hole, still invaded by Misha’s fingers. Dean stared down with glazed-over eyes and saw that Misha was jerking his release right against his opening with a feral arousal having taken over his features.

Misha grunted, teeth sinking into a plush lower lip, “I want to fuck you so fucking bad…” He looked up at Dean with fluttering eyelids, still flexing and unflexing with the aftershocks.

Before Dean could respond, Misha was on him, evidently not caring about the sticky mess between them. Hands brushed through his short hair while his mouth was assaulted with a passionate kiss. A post-sex satisfied moan thundered against his heart. Dean wrapped his legs and arms around that beautiful lean frame, melding their bodies together in a crazy naked hug.

The kissing slowed, the gravelly moans turned into tired, sleepy sounds, and after a few soft pecks, they collapsed onto their backs, hands linked between them lazily.

“We need a towel or something… Can’t sleep like this.” Dean complained but made no efforts at getting up. His limbs were leaden and uncooperative.

Misha grumbled unhappily, climbed off the bed in clumsy movements and bent down to grab one of the towels off the floor, he threw one at Dean and used the other to wipe himself. Dean did as good of a job as possible considering things had dried a bit; thank god the towel was still damp, it helped.

They fall asleep in seconds with Dean at Misha’s back, an arm wrapped around his torso.

/\/\/\

It was dark and hazy in the dream, a rushing sound swirled in his ears and he felt skin on him everywhere: rubbing, scratching, touching, a soft current of breath over his neck, a tongue licking inside his ear, something pressing hard into him. The heady dreamscape faded into blackness and then shifted into his room at the bunker. A single lamp turned on, the bed unmade, and low music coming from somewhere. It sounded like a radio…

“Hello Dean.” Cas greeted from behind. Dean turned slowly, a sly curve of his mouth before he spoke.

“This real?” He asked. “I mean, are you in my dream right now?”

Cas nodded, “I had to stop and get gas and decided to pull onto a gravel side-road for a minute.”

Dean moved closer, he reached out and tugged at Cas’ beige coat, “You haven’t done this in a while. Sure it’s okay with your draining batteries and all?” He asked, hoping that they had time.

“It’s not much effort.” Cas replied, looking him up and down. “Sleeping well?” The angel tilted his head.

Dean laughed, “Yes… but you know that already.”

“I wish I could be there.” Cas said wistfully, looking off to the side.

“Instead or in addition?” Dean wondered out loud, wearing a toothy grin.

Cas squinted as he thought about it, “Umm… both?” Dean chuckled quietly.

The angel’s expression shifted abruptly. A visage of worry taking over and he looked at the wall, chewing his lip the way he did when he was deep in thought. 

When Cas turned to stare at Dean, he sighed, and stepped around him to sit on the bed. “Is this really a good idea, Dean?” He asked, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

Dean didn’t care for that kind of talk. Not at all. He’d thought they were past questions and misgivings. He moved quickly to stand in front of the angel, grabbing Cas’ chin and angling it up so he could see the fear-filled blue eyes.

“What are you worried about?” He asked, trying to lock down his own insecurities. ‘Cause really, they had fucking tons to worry about. Dean just didn’t give a shit anymore.

Cas clutched his forearm, thumb pressing pointedly against the Mark there. “A variety of things… The driving is boring and I can’t help thinking of everything standing against us.” He explained, keeping hold of Dean’s arm, letting his thumb rub heat into the symbol of darkness that had crept into their lives. Dean wished Cas hadn’t been alone in the car with all that time to think, and apparently worry himself into second-guessing this thing that had started. He should’ve been there to distract him.

Well, time for damage control.

“Everything’s always been stacked against us.” Dean argued, “Hasn’t slowed us down so far, why should this be any different?” He grazed the pad of his thumb over Cas’ bottom lip, seeing a softer expression flicker for a moment.

“But fear of rejection was not the only thing that stopped this from happening sooner and you know it. The only reason this is happening now is because Misha is a very persistent version of myself and knew exactly how to lead you into temptation and hedonism.” Cas let his hand slide down and stopped when he could hold Dean’s hand in his.

Dean interlaced their fingers. He held Cas’ face with his other palm and met the worried expression with his own calmer façade. He said, “Have faith.”

The words earned a warm smile from the angel, tension falling from stiff shoulders.

“How much can I distract you right now?” He nudged Cas’ knee to the side so he could stand between his parted legs.

Cas looked down and then back up. The blue gaze that landed on him was a fraction darker. Dean smirked triumphantly, his heart beating with growing excitement.

Surprising him, Cas yanked on his shirt and pulled Dean down against his mouth. Cas moved fast and anxious, trying to tug Dean into his lap. Dean pushed his shoulders back. “Hey… Relax.” His hands caressed Cas’ face and he pressed his lips against the angel’s cheek and mouth softly.

Cas grimaced and sighed, as if Dean had interrupted him completely. Which was really not what he was going for. Cas spoke, “I want to be content, Dean. I wish that things were easier… I’ve seen glimpses of Misha’s life with that other man and you have no concept how badly I wish we could have that… a quiet, happy existence.”

Dean exhaled sharply, a gruff protest, “Cas I don’t think they have a quiet life, they’re celebrities with wives and kids and stuff.”

Feeling that touching wasn’t really on Cas’ mind anymore, he sat down beside his friend-slash-whatever-else Cas was.

He reached out to take Cas’ hand, pulling it into his lap. The angel looked over at their joined hands and smiled in a far-off way.

“You look beat.” He noted.

Cas closed his eyes, tipping his head back a fraction. Dean freed one of his hands and brought it to the back of the angel’s neck, rubbing into the tight muscles. Discreetly, he used the hold to shift Cas a little a closer to him, angling that weary appearance to face him slowly.

With the blue eyes hidden still, Dean leaned in to kiss him. A light press of his mouth, meant to be comforting, and hopefully reassuring.

“I think he was meant to come here.” Dean said in the air between them, referring to Misha. He kissed Cas again, more insistently. “To push me to a point where I can’t stand the idea of not being with you.” Blue eyes opened to observe him. Dean continued: “And I can’t. Stand it, I mean.” He explained unevenly. 

“ _Dean_.” His name from Cas’ lips sounded tortured, like the angel knew that leaping into this was exactly everything he wanted and was as terrified of the consequences as Dean was. 

“Don’t back out now. _Please_.” Apparently, Dean was not above begging.

Cas focused intently on Dean’s green eyes, searching for answers that Dean didn’t have. He prayed for Cas to kiss him, to let go, to let him in. They were already there. So close.

His prayers were answered when Cas leaned in, a shyness to it that Dean wasn’t used to. Cas kissed him in a brush of dry lips before a sharp exhale triggered a deepening of the kiss. Dean gripped the back of his head, forcing them tighter together and kissing hard, tonguing into the angel’s mouth with a needy moan. He wanted to strip them both naked and get all kinds of sweaty but he clamped down the urge, imploring himself to take it slow.

Too much heat, and grabbing, and warm, slick tongues soon took over rational thought. Without breaking away from the warmth of Cas’ mouth, he dragged them lower onto the bed so they were laying on their sides. He took his time enjoying the feel of Cas’ tongue and mouth, exploring each with care. He relished in the angel’s soft sounds of pleasure when he licked deep, tasting him. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ torso inside his jacket, pushing a leg between knees clad in dress pants.

Snaking an arm lower, stopping at the very base of Cas’ spine, he pressed hard and shifted his hips, craving the feel of their lower bodies mashing together. He was fucking hungry for it. Too many dreams he’d had of this, too many times he’d feared never getting to act on any of his unheavenly desires in the many instances of Cas’ death. It all bubbled up inside him and left Dean mindless and hot. Stripped down to the very basic component of a man wanting something more than he’d ever wanted anything.

Cas was hard, a thick ridge that Dean rubbed his pelvis against. Cas broke the kiss to breathe in rough pants. “Dean…” The deep voice came out throatier than Dean had ever heard it before. His mouth watered.

“When I get back…” Cas declared as he stroked possessively along Dean’s shoulder, running down the side of his body. “I would like…hmm…” He paused and raised his dilated eyes to meet Dean’s, “to continue this.” He finished roughly.

Dean beamed, hugging him tight and kissing his mouth hard. “Me too. You have no idea.” He said fervently. 

Feeling that their time was drawing to an end, Dean made the most of it by reaching up to cradle Cas’ face in his hands, holding the focus of his attention. “Have I told you that the two of you ease the effects of the Mark?” Because if there was any indication that this, _them_ , was something spectacular and powerful it was that. Undeniable evidence in the form of his not wanting to kill shit. It wasn’t exactly a love-letter, but it was considered good, solid proof in his books. Besides, he couldn’t write for shit anyway.

Cas tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he sort of onced-over Dean. “You’re sure?” Cas asked, pulling back to look at him more completely.

Dean nodded, “Oh yeah.” It was more noticeable when he was with both of them, or overtly distracted by one of them… _Christ,_ Dean could only imagine how good he would feel if the frequent ménage porno playing in the back of his head came to life.

Cas considered this, his gaze up and off to the side. “Interesting.” He said distantly.

“See… _Evidence_.” Dean insisted happily.

“Evidence of what?”

“That we’re meant to be together.” Bring on the corn-dogs. _Fuck, I’m such a girl sometimes…_

Cas softened, a reproving guise taking over, “Of that I have no doubt.” He assured, pulling Dean into him and capturing his mouth for another skin-dampening kiss that had Dean rolling his hips helplessly.  

Too soon, Cas was pushing him away. He groaned but sat up. As the dream began to turn white, washing out all the colour of his room and the man standing in it, he distinctly heard Cas say, “Give Misha a kiss from me,” with a wide grin.

Dean laughed and found himself waking up in the motel room bed. Mish was draped over him, a leg between his and an arm stretched over his ribs, a face smashed against his chest. Dean stretched, his joints cracking with the extension. His erection was of the pleasant variety, nothing that demanded attention—more like a suggestion. He reached down and adjusted himself, did a little scratch and continued lying there, content to simply _be._

It was only when he looked off towards the bathroom that he kind of jumped. Misha startled awake with a sharp inhale that was nearly a snort and it was so goddamn funny that it derailed Dean’s thoughts, sniggering softly.

“Fuck, why’d you flinch like that. My heart’s racing.” Misha complained, squirming into him, trying to dig his way into a more solid cuddle.

“Sorry… just, uhh, something caught my eye.” That was it too. His right arm was stretched out underneath Misha’s sleepy head and the white underside of his forearm had been facing upwards.

“What was tha— _aaaaawhhr_?” Mish asked through a yawn, stretching beside him.

“Nothing.” Dean answered, shrugging it off. Just a trick of the light, he reasoned.

_That_ would be too much to hope for.

He kissed the tangled mess of Misha’s hair and nudged his head a little so the actor would turn up for a real kiss. He did and Dean devoured him, trying to find differences between him and Cas. They tasted different. But then again…

“Go brush your teeth.” Said Dean. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Misha reached down for a quick feeling-up of Dean’s morning arousal, smirking at him as he teased Dean with light strokes, finishing with a firm grip before he got up and walked stark-naked into the bathroom. Dean leered blatantly.

The second the door was mostly shut, Dean stared down at his arm. Maybe he was crazy, maybe it was the light in the motel room; those warpy streaks of bright, late-morning light coming in through the gaps in the thick brown curtains. To him, the mark looked lighter, like it was fading. But that was dumb, right? If there was a way to get rid of it so easily, he was sure Cain would’ve found it. He had his reasons after all, and they were much the same as Dean’s. 

_Looooooove…_ He thought foolishly.

Dean didn’t need useless hope. Besides, the Mark still had a purpose to serve and that was wiping the big bads off the chess board for good. He threw the covers off and made his way to the bathroom. He knocked… ‘cause well, you know.

“I’m taking a leak but feel free to enter.” Misha said cheerfully. Dean walked in, rubbing his eyes of sleep and grabbed his toothbrush, noticing it was wet.

“You used my toothbrush, didn’t you?” He held it up meaningfully. Misha finished his thing and moved over to the shower, turning it on.

“Of course… I clearly didn’t bring my own. You know, not having a moment to stop by home before visiting this universe and all.” He laughed then as he got in behind the shower curtain, “I’ve been using it every day since I got here.”

Evidently Dean was sharing a toothbrush.

_Meh_. He squirted some toothpaste on it and got to brushin’.

They took a long shower during which they’d ended up having to wash twice. The first time around didn’t quite take. But anyway, within an hour they were back on the road, stopping quickly for a swap of stolen wheels and morning refreshments of bagels and coffee. They’d be back at the bunker before supper.

/\/\/\

Sam stared down at the book in his hands, flipping back and forth between pages 325 and 326 on the backside. He flustered angrily and would continue to do so until Dean got back. He wasn’t saying that Dean had been careless; more of that blame fell to Cas for sure. The angel was so eager to get his grace back (which he maintained could not have been destroyed with Metatron’s spell and that obviously Metatron still had it). Sam was sure Dean would have told him about the problem with the spell if he’d known; if only because of his worry over Cas, but he hadn’t so Cas had clearly kept his mouth shut about it.

The problem was that there were two spells. With the same ingredients and _both_ incantations had the same flowery enochian verbal garble. The only tiny, minuscule, fractional variation was the spelling of one single word. Sam wasn’t fluent in enochian but Cas had helped him translate a lot and he thought he was decent so he knew that between both spells, a single fucking LINE of _one_ letter, within _one_ word, was different. And he had no idea what it meant.

Sam sighed for about the fortieth time in two hours. He rubbed his head and decided to go make coffee.

A hot coffee in hand as he sat down and tried to work through the problem some more, the door upstairs opened, Dean’s cheerful voice filling the space.

“…I can’t believe you got arrested!” He was laughing, so was Misha. “You’re such a nerd,” Dean barked another chuckle, “You got arrested for being a nerd.”

Their joint laughter trickled to a halt the second they saw Sam’s face. He was glowering. And frankly, it was hard to glower after seeing Dean that way. It had been a long time since  he’d seen his brother this happy. And, geez, the two of them? They were like ten year olds together.

“What’s with the sour puss, Sammy?” The nickname said with affection stumped him for a moment but he re-schooled his face into angry lines.

“Did you even look at this?” He asked starkly, shoving the book across the table where Dean caught it with a slap on the other side.

His brother raised the text to his face and surveyed the spell. He shrugged and stared at Sam.

“Turn the page, Dean.” He clipped.

Dean hesitantly flipped the thin paper and read some more. Sam saw when he got to it. Dean acted like an idiot often enough, but they both knew he was one of the smartest hunters there was. Hell, maybe Dean would know the difference between the spells and it was all okay… except that didn’t happen.

Dean looked around guiltily, mouth opening with nothing coming out.

“Did Cas tell you which one?” He asked sharply.

“No.” Dean said defensively. “I’m sure he knows, Sam. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about what?” Misha interjected, moving purposely into the conversation.

“It’s nothing.” Dean said in a tight voice, glaring daggers at Sam, urging him to shut the fuck up.

“Dean, can I talk to you a moment?” Sam asked with false kindness. Dean rolled his eyes and followed Sam as he walked to the hall and down towards the kitchen.

Once in the room, Sam pointed to the far end of the bunker, “He has a family Dean!” He argued.

Dean clenched his jaw. “Yes, I know that.”

Sam huffed and shook his head impatiently. “So, what? You’re just going to put his life in Cas’ eager hands to get his grace back?” He asked.

“Christ, you think I want anything to happen to him? You’re fucking crazy! Besides, I wouldn’t let Cas do anything stupid. You know that.” Dean finished and then brightened with a new thought. “Besides… you didn’t see what happened yesterday. Cas would probably kill us before anything happened to Misha.”

Sam was confused, he felt his brows pulling together, “What the fuck is happening with the three of you?”

Dean turned brilliant red. Sam would’ve laughed in another situation. “It’s complicated.” Dean replied succinctly.

Sam laughed humourlessly. “What is that, like, your Facebook status now?”

“Fuck off.” His older brother moved to get away but Sam grabbed him by the elbow.

“We are not doing this spell until we know what we’re doing.” Sam told Dean in a hard, _I’m serious as fuck_ , voice.

He watched Dean visibly think about both men, about the dangers of doing a spell this big, half-cocked. Green eyes finally moved up and down in a nod.

With that settled, he had to ask. “So what happened yesterday?”

Dean looked seconds away from bolting into a cartoon run through the wall. “Well… uhh… we know… uhm. I m-mean, apparently… Cas and Misha are… like… the same.”

Talk much? Sam thought to himself. It was hilarious seeing Dean stutter and stumble for words. He realized then what Dean had said.

“The same?”

“Yeah… like when Cas is human, their souls are identical. Cas did his,” Dean shoved his arm up in the air, “thing.”

Sam grimaced. “That must’ve sucked.”

Dean nodded, looking away.

“Umm, is there, like, stuff _stuff_ going on now?” Sam asked with a scrunch of his nose.

Dean glared, hatefully and bored at the same time. “Seriously?” Dean asked in a dry voice.

Okay, so Sam wasn’t naive. He knew what was going on, but he couldn’t _not_ ask Dean.

/\/\/\

By the time Dean made it back into the library, Misha was nowhere to be found. His conversation with Sam left him itchy and agitated. His forearm felt like it was on fire, a headache had blossomed inside his skull, and in all honesty, he was a little sore from middle of the night escapades. His awesome mood had severely taken a steep nosedive.

He left Sam in the library, not caring for any further chit-chat about spells, and definitely not about his extra-curriculars.

Going first to his room, he found it empty. So was the bathroom.

Dean paused outside the room he originally gave to the actor—the crazy man that had shown up on their doorstep and had thrown his world into a chaotic, pornographic mess.

The door was open a crack, so he pushed it inward, stepping into the room. Misha was at the end of the bed with his head down. He glanced up as Dean entered.

_Shit…_

Blue eyes were rimmed with red, and watery. Misha’s fingers wiped at his face and he sniffed trying to compose himself. Dean loosened his stiff posture, a frown taking over.

“We’ll get you home. I promise.” He vowed.

Misha smiled, but it was sad. Tired, even. “If something is wrong I need to know.” Mish told him in a voice stretched thin.

Dean should’ve known he wouldn’t get by so easily after what happened when they’d gotten back.

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“Then don’t give me reason too.” Misha challenged.

“I’m sorry. Sam noticed that there are two incantations for the spell. Cas didn’t say anything which means I’m sure it’s not an issue. But Sam is worried. We’ll get you back.” _Even though I don’t want you to go…_

Misha blinked back a resurgence of upset, rubbed his face and stood, striding purposefully towards Dean. Lips greeted him in a nearly angry kiss.

“I love you… and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but if we fuck this up and I never see my family again…” He looked away, jaw clenching, “I will leave and scour this world for her.” He swore.

_Riiiight._ His wife. Dean nodded without a word. _Noted_.

“Okay.”

This had to work. Even if it meant he would never see this man again, Dean vowed to do everything in his power to get him back where he belonged. He reminded himself that this was a stolen relationship, and he had to let it go—just like the car that he had wanted to keep.

He realized sadly that there wasn’t much he had that was his.

Maybe he could make the most of the time they ha—

 

“ _Deeaaan!!!_ ” Sam’s fear-laced yell resounded from the other end of the bunker. The dread etched into that voice had them both running, tearing down the long hallway.

Dean flew around the final corner and stopped cold.

Cas was slumped in Sam’s arms. He rushed over and grabbed the precious load from his brother’s arms.

“Cas! What happened?” …No response… “C _AS_!” He pawed at Cas’ face in heavy strokes trying to rouse him awake.

“He came in and handed me this—“ Sam held up a jar with what looked like fucking adamantium in it, “—and then collapsed.”

Dean slapped Cas’ face hard and the angel blinked up at him. He was barely there, unable to speak.

With a horrifying realization, he knew what was happening.

“Sam—do it now!” He shrieked.

Sam glared at him, coming close to his face. “Dean, we don’t know which spell to use!”

“If Cas dies it won’t fucking matter!!!” He screamed back.

Misha landed a commanding hand on the brothers, “Do it… just do it.” He said in a hauntingly expressionless voice.

Sam stalled, looking between them and at Cas’ draped form in Dean’s arms.

A panic unlike anything Dean had ever felt before flared in every cell of his being. He gripped Cas steady in one arm and reached out with his other, fisting Sam’s shirt and jerking his brother down so they were nose-to-nose.

“Fucking do it now!” He seethed.

A sudden flurry of commotion surrounded him. Sam and Misha were racing around the room and shouting at each other.

A weird silence drowned everything out as Dean stared down at Cas’ face. He wasn’t awake now. The smooth lines of his face looked blurry.

Sam grabbed his arm, ripping him out of his state, “Dean?”

He nodded in understanding, stuck a hand in his pants pocket and extended the once-precious gift he’d be given, hoping to God that one could be traded for another. Specifically the one weighing heavy in his arms.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for the cliffhanger. It had to stop here. This beast of a chapter is like 20 pages in Word.


	8. Bicycle Touring, Appalachian Clogging, and... Heroism?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The uncertain spell takes a dangerous turn and throws Misha into an unwanted scenario. Having to think quickly on his feet, he comes up with a terrible plan, but it's all he can manage... he just hopes he won't die, and hopefully, just maybe he can even save Cas in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Tennyo! :) And everyone, so sorry for not getting things up sooner. I wish I had more time. Sincerely, writing and reading is all I really want to be doing, alas, life demands other things.

Words in single and double syllables ratcheted out in echoes throughout the room. An ominous boom of his brother’s voice filled the air. It moved over Dean like the words couldn’t touch him from his slouch on the floor. He was sure he’d been standing at some point, but now he was on the floor with Castiel laid out in his lap. Dean pulled him against his chest, the angel’s head rolled limply against the bone of his shoulder and a sob tore its way out of his throat with sudden force.

“Sam?” He croaked.

His younger brother didn’t respond and kept droning on with the Enochian.

“Uhh... Why are you giving me this?” He heard Misha ask, his voice pitched high with worry.

“Because I think this is gonna go one way or another… and,” Sam paused, “Just shove it up your sleeve okay?”

Dean remembered that Misha was wearing his jacket. He didn’t know what they were talking about. Didn’t really care. Not now, not…

“Guys?” Dean’s voice trembled and he felt a hollow dread sink deep into his gut. Cas hadn’t moved in a while. “Guys??” He repeated.

Words cranked up again, tumbling faster and faster. The air felt hot against his skin and Dean saw the lights begin to flicker. Something big was coming. Not five seconds later, every light went out with fizzles and pops and the weight in his arms vanished leaving behind a rush of air.

“No, no, no, no…” He repeated in a state, throwing his arms out, trying to get back what was gone. “What the hell Sam? What did you do? What happened? What the fuck? Oh shit… Sam, _fuck_ , where’d he go?” Dean leapt up and scrambled to find his brother, turning a chair over, or two, in the process. “Sam, Sam?” He repeated as he felt his way around, his voice rising high and frantic.

Finally, Dean latched onto warm cloth over hard body and knew it was his brother. He shook the big body hard. Must’ve passed out, Dean thought, hoped...

“Sammy?” He shook more forcefully, worry increasing. “Sam?”

A groan. _Thank Fuck, at least you’re okay._

“Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me. What the fuck? What happened? Sammy, Cas is gone. He-he’s gone. Sam?” He grabbed at Sam’s shoulders as he spoke.

Another pained grumble form his brother and then, finally, the lights flickered back on. The room was in upheaval. Books tossed onto the floor, chairs overturned, lamps fading in and out like they hadn’t decided if they were back in business yet. Both brothers stood and surveyed the space with dire expressions.

But above all the turmoil was the glaringly obvious absence of two identical men. Or rather, one angel and one obnoxious actor.

“Sam?” Dean grated out anxiously now, both of them staring in disbelief.

“Where did they go?” Dean spat angrily, spun around and grabbed Sam by the shoulders.

“You already know…” Sam said quietly, carefully, his face hardening into harsh lines with his own distress. Sam’s dead expression met Dean’s angry one in glaring disparity.  

“I’m guessing,” Sam announced in a wilted voice, “that one of those words meant to ‘bring forth’, and one meant to ‘send unto’… of course they had to go and be basically the same fucking wo—“

“ _SEND WHERE?!_ ” Dean shouted. But Sam was right… he knew. Of course he knew. They’d just sent Cas and Misha to their death.

/\/\/\

Misha glanced around the new locale and felt an odd mixture of fear and a really weird apathetic form of resignation. “Figures…” He muttered. When he looked at the other side of the room to take in the bookcases, he saw Castiel, unconscious, in a curved heap on the floor. He raced over, sliding onto his knees and tried to wake him up. He knew it was useless. Cas was out cold… he would not consider any other alternative.

Think. Think, think, think….

A lot of things were the same here, right? Certain truths that he had noticed—the big ones, especially, seemed to hold true to his world. So, maybe? He thought back to the Season Nine finale, of being in this very same room. Could it play out the same? He didn’t have a lot of time.

Misha flew up onto his feet, only managing a single step towards the desk before a familiar whiny voice stopped him from the doorway. Misha halted like a statue, gazing at the desk with naked desperation, grateful that Metatron couldn’t see his face.

“Well, you’re not Castiel.” Metatron intoned in a delighted, aloof greeting. Misha cursed silently.

“Uhh... nope. Sure not.” He turned around and faked a smile as best he could.

“So, who are you then?” Metatron closed the door, glanced off-hand at Castiel and frowned without any real emotion. “Sad, isn’t it?” He reflected lightly before turning back to Misha.

Misha’s arms started to shake and he tried to keep the angel blade in place and out of sight. He had to force himself to pretend this was work, needed to in order to get through this without pissing himself, or dropping the damn blade and stabbing his own foot. Which at this point, was a serious possibility.

It’s only a scene, he told himself. Just a job, he chanted _._

 _Juuuuust_ a job…

Sure, totally. He scoffed sarcastically to himself. _I’m a fucking dead man._

“I asked you a question.” Metatron prompted, regarding him as if he was some insane person that had stumbled into the wrong room.

_Right… who am I? Who am I?_

“I’m ahhh…” He paused. “You know, doesn’t matter who I am.” He said, shrugging, slowly feeling his way into a role and hoping to God he wasn’t gonna fuck things up. Too many people were counting on him. Christ, when had he been volunteered for hero of the week? And where the fuck was Katniss to switch out? I did _not_ volunteer as tribute, he thought sardonically.

Metatron laughed in a dark annoying cackle. “Doesn’t matter?” Fake God repeated in a question. The fucker looked downright amused with this little back and forth. “And why doesn’t it matter?” Metatron pressed, casually linking his hands behind his back.

Misha stepped to the side, shoving his sweaty hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t drip on the floor—besides it helped to keep the blade in place.

“Because it’s all about you really, isn’t it?” Misha started off, forcing calmness into his words. “You’re just a sad little loser who would have loved to have been as looked up to as Cas was.”  

Metatron glared at him, aggravated by the focus on his deficiencies. The power-tripping angel shifted to the right, leaving Misha free to back up over left towards the desk.

“You want power, right?” He continued. “A mass of followers to kneel at your feet?” Metatron squinted with interest. “Well, knowledge is power my friend, and I have an unlimited wealth of that in the future of this world and it could be a great benefit to you. A real checkmate, if you will.”

Fuck, this was a horrible plan, Misha thought in a panic, but it was the only thing he could think of on the spot. Jesus, Metatron could touch his head a given moment and extract every last thought and memory.

_What the fuck am I doing here?_

With a casual air, Metatron strolled closer, taking a curve to the right as he gave all the affect of considering Misha’s words. Misha shifted his stance in response.

“You—” Metatron laughed thickly, “—want to help little old me?” He asked, softly placing a humble hand over his chest.

 _Well_ … little was appropriate, Misha thought with a unavoidable grin.

“Definitely. I think you know what you’re doing up here. ”   _Not_.

Misha angled his head and kept going. “Of course… I want something in return.” He took another step back, pretending as if he were shifting to protect Castiel. He glanced at the twin form on the ground. “His Grace, where is it?”

Metatron smirked arrogantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And why do you think I would have that?”

“Because I know you do. I know _everything_ …” That is, pending parallel world inconsistencies and variations due to his presence entirely and, you know, all the other list of crap that could fuck him over.

“Really?” Metatron questioned, looking half-interested for the first time but only so much that Misha was still nothing more than a lame party trick. Hopefully, the lowly assessment could play to his advantage.

Well, bring on the show. “It’s under your shirt.” He told the douche-angel, gesturing with his head.

Metatron gave him a sly, knowing grin, “Oh-ho-ho! You’re good!” He laughed heartily. “And, pray tell, what else do you know?” Those round eyes glowing suddenly.

“Just give it to me, and I will tell you, once and for all, how to be the true ruler of Heaven and earth.” Please let this work. Please, c’mon.

Another step back.

“Think you’re smarter than me?” Metatron stilled, the mirth and play shutting down into a demeanour of cold stone. The angel’s expression became dominating and out of place for such a small-statured man. Misha had to force his fear into the pit of his stomach, using it as fuel for his words.

“I’m less prideful.” Misha countered. “Better looking of course.” He said coolly, glancing down at the body on the ground: _please, please don’t be dead._

And suddenly it was time. He was cornered. Misha had one move left, and that was it. Do or die time.

He swallowed thick. “But you know the one thing I’ve got that you, and pretty much no one else does?” He teased.

One smaller, tiny step back.

Metatron shrugged stiff shoulders. Sensing something amiss, his gaze penetrated and he tilted his head with falsified interest—feigning the continuation of this charade.

“N _oooo_ , gee, what is that you think you’ve got? You insufficient duplicate.” Metatron asked, his over-inflated sense of power and control gave his mild interrogation an air of boredom, and that offered Misha a measure of confidence. The temporarily powerful angel was off-guard; Metatron had underestimated him and the things he knew.

Misha reached further into his pocket, giving all impression that he was about to pull out something of significance, as opposed to what he was actually planning. Metatron instantly went on alert, coming straight for him instead of rounding towards the back. Misha was close enough now. But Metatron was pulling out a blade… shit, shit, shit, shit…

The actor, forced to move, whipped his arm back and sent the typewriter flying; he snagged the rock before the typewriter clamoured loudly onto the wood floor. He swiftly swung his arm and sent the inscribed rock hurtling against the fucking wall, smashing it into pieces. In the same second of time, pain speared straight through his torso so sharply his knees buckled, his vision threatened to leave him, and for the life of him, couldn’t remember how to properly work his lungs. He struggled to stay conscious. _Fuck… I’ve been stabbed._

_I’ve been shanked by a four-foot wannabe._

_Fuck_.

Feeling light-headed with the pain, Metatron whining about the tablet in the background, Misha let the borrowed blade slip from his sleeve. He almost dropped it altogether… fucking thing was heavy. Christ, his eyes were heavy too… and his limbs.

“S’what I have?” He slurred, continuing from before. He lilted to the side. “M’fucking crazy, fuck-face.” And with that, Misha wrenched his arm with a force that came from God-knows-where and tunneled that shiny blade right through dick-angel’s stumpy little neck. Blood and bright-ass grace erupted from the wounds. He shielded his eyes and wheezed in a breath, coughing in sputters.

With the adrenaline almost immediately leaking out of him—probably from the damn hole in his side—Misha crashed to the ground. With his consciousness threatening to slip away, he tugged at the cord around Metatron’s bloody neck. The little vial was glowing still and he had to hope. He prayed and prayed.

It hurt more than he ever would have expected. Every twist of his body sent jabbing spikes of pain radiating in flares out to his limbs.

He crawled slowly over to his other broken body… the one not his. It took a great deal of effort to move across the small space, the journey back over to Cas feeling way longer than before if that were even possible. Misha couldn’t hold back the small pained grunts and breathless whimpers as searing agony blossomed throughout his back and ribs. Every breath was torture and he lost his vision a few times, his head dropping with exhaustion, before he found another measly ounce of strength and dragged his ass another foot.

He fumbled trying to get the cork out, his breath raspy, hands slipping as they lost feeling with the recession of blood.

“Jesus…, c’mon.” His voice was brittle and light.

He finally tugged it out, ripping a nail in the process, and clumsily raised it to Cas’ slack lips.

Bottoms up! He had no idea what he was doing and rammed the whole glass tube in Cas’ mouth, no energy left to be gentle. Drink up twin… c’mon. Dean needs you.

And while we’re on that whole needing thing, possibly dying here… so please don’t be dead. Oh God, please wake up.

_Please..._

The double doors blew apart but his eyes were already slipping shut, the world fading into white.

/\/\/\

His cheek was stinging with pins and needles, his head pounded so fiercely he couldn’t make sense of anything. Hazy images cracked their way into his vision. Flickering slowly, in and out, in and out.

Followed by incessant, crushing blackness.

After an immeasurable span of time, a blur of light pinwheeled its way into his senses but like before, it didn’t last. He went for another drift into a dark void.

He resurfaced as a pleasant hum weaved through his body, coursing life into him. _Mmm_ … felt good. Felt sooo good.

“I knew you’d like that.” A deep voice purred.

Misha’s eyes flashed open. “A _hhh_!…” He winced in pain. “Fuck it’s bright as God’s ass up here, what the fuck?”

A familiar voice chuckled. “Cas!” Misha spouted in exclamation and tried to adjust to the blinding white. It dimmed finally and his eyeballs stopped pinching with pain. They were outside…oh crap.

“Are we in Heaven?” He asked, sitting up with dread and looking around seeing trees, butterflies, rays of sunshine and shit.

 _Fuck._ I’m dead.

“No… you’re not dead. But yes, we are still in Heaven.” Cas was smiling.

“Not dead?” He repeated, eager to hear the proof again.

“No… and while I was not present for most of it, I’m quite certain I have you to thank for that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Misha said with insouciance. “All good.” He patted his torso—all healed. “Tis but a scratch… Just a flesh wound!” He rang out into the falsified summer day.

“Are you okay?” Cas narrowed his eyes and reached out to stroke his face, more out of concern than an effort to be tender.

Misha laughed, his emotions going haywire. All joking stopped short and a heavy weight crushed over him. “I killed someone.” He almost didn’t believe the words. “I ended a life.” He wanted to vomit.

And then he did.

Cas must’ve seen it coming because he swiftly turned Misha over onto his hands and knees and let a nasty mess of stomach contents explode out onto the perfect green grass. He choked, his throat burning. More projectile barf came out of him and when it was over, familiar blue eyes came up close to his face, squinting and looking him over. With a touch, all the throat burn, twisting guts, and parched, gross mouth vanished. Heaven also cleaned the mess from the grass. Dog owners would love that trick, he thought idly.

“I… uhm, I don’t know why I’m… I mean he was evil. H-he needed to die.” Despite the words, his brain kept replaying the whole scene with the scrolling caption commentary: _I killed someone, I killed someone…._

Castiel softened, a hand resting on his shoulder. “Taking a life should _never_ not bother you.” He said, running the hand from Misha’s shoulder to his back, forming warm patterns.

When Misha made no reply, Castiel looked up at Heaven’s version of a blue sky. “You are the reason that I am one of the more compassionate angels to have existed. You are the good in me. The one who would question orders. You are the part of me that allowed me to doubt.”

“And what part of me spawned your ploy for Purgatory souls?” Misha laughed. “Probably the crazy part.” He said, answering his own question. Castiel reacted both hurt and confused by the one-sided Q&A.

“So… what’s happening with Heaven now?” Misha asked, sweeping bad deeds under the rug with the change of subject. It’s not like he was by any means perfect.

Cas grimaced. “Chaos. Naturally.” He looked resigned to an unwanted fate.

“And what will you do about it?”

“You assume that responsibility falls to me.” Cas noted.

“Unequivocally.”

Cas smiled humbly and laughed in a tired snort, he grabbed Misha’s face and tugged him close, stopping just short of their lips crashing together.

Misha’s breath ripped out in a harsh exhale at the sudden heat.

Finding permission in Misha’s familiar eyes, Cas closed the distance and sealed their equally plump lips together. It was an affirming kiss, a real “shit we’re alive” kind of deal. He tumbled fully into it, tongues meeting and pressing together as they slipped around messily in the other’s mouth.

When they parted, panting for air, their lips were wet and stares heated. That odd hum, a pleasant thrill of sensation, ran through the air once more.

At the same time, they smirked at each other and voiced one name, “Dean.”

/\/\/\

The bunker was deathly quiet. Both brothers slumped at the library table with nothing better to do than stare and wish it had all been a dream. Correction: nightmare.

Though Dean had shed tears when Cas had been in his arms, he was shockingly empty now. That is, except for the fire burning in his arm and back. A delicious, vengeful heat emanated from the epicentre of the mark, running through his veins and down his spine. Dismembering bodies sounded like a wonderful plan.

He actually went into full detail on that gory daydream, picturing every bloody turn of events, every tool, hearing every scream. The longer he thought about it without taking action, a sickness filled up in his gut. The desire to kill grew and he found his hand twitching with an empty need.

Nearly a breath away from getting up and finding that damned blade, a familiar flap and whoosh broke the thick silence that had Dean and Sam jumping up from their chairs.

The sight accompanying the noise was so good he almost wept. But he was a man for fuck’s sake, so he clenched his jaw and made an angry face instead.

“What the fuck?!” He shrieked. His voice _way_ higher than he’d planned.

Sam made a ‘Yeah, what he said’ face and Dean nodded vehemently.

Misha and Cas were standing by the head of the table, holding hands and smirking at him (mostly Cas anyway) like they hadn’t just vanished three hours ago under the work of a spell into the den of douche-angel numero uno.

“You will not believe what Misha did.” Cas stated proudly, all puffed up.

Dean’s eyes flickered over to the man in question and the actor looked anything but happy about whatever prideful act he’d done. He couldn’t have…

“What?” Sam and Dean said simultaneously, nearly on the edge of their seat with the dangling of a ‘maybe’ so huge that they couldn’t bring themselves to hazard the guess for fear they would be crushed if wrong.

Glancing for a moment at Misha, Cas switched into a grim visage, answering in a deep timbre. “He killed Metatron.”

_Holy Shit._

Misha dropped his head in a shameful hang.

“Holy shit, really?” Sam blurted, stealing Dean’s words exactly, and walked quickly over to them.

Dean stood rooted to the spot. He heard Cas begin telling Sam what had happened. Dean heard everything of course but couldn’t peel his eyes away from the man standing just outside of the conversation. Sensing his gaze, the actor glanced up and that heart-breaking saddened look was all over his face. Mish let go of Cas’ hand and strode purposefully over to Dean, barely holding it together.

Throwing his arms immediately around Misha’s frame, the smaller man crumpled against Dean in a needed hug. Strong arms secured themselves tight around Dean’s torso and he was pretty sure Misha wouldn’t be letting go for a while.

“It’s okay Mish… we get it. He deserved to die though.” Dean wished he’d been the one to do the job, both for the satisfaction and to save Mish from the pain and guilt of taking a life. Dean had long ago gotten over that hang-up of the job.

He felt the actor hiccup an errant sob. When Dean glanced up, he found Sam and Cas staring at their embrace. His brother looked genuinely surprised and amused—not too used to seeing Dean comfort a grown man this way. That’s not to say Sam’s never seen Dean do other things to grown men, but putting aside drunken bar-scapades, this was different.

Cas walked over and stroked a hand over Mish’s back, staring into Dean’s eyes. Dean met the very-much alive blue stare with a beaming grin. An overwhelming urge to stake his claim bubbled up from nowhere.

Sam coughed. “I’m gonna go…” He said in a stretched voice. “Somewhere very far away…”

Neither Dean nor Castiel acknowledged the exit, too caught up in each other and the man between them.

Nearly jumping with joy, Dean smiled. “All Angel’d up?” He asked, so relieved to have Cas standing in front of him.

Cas nodded, continuing to stroke Misha’s back while Dean rubbed a hand over the actor’s neck, his face still cuddled into Dean’s collarbone and throat.

/\/\/\

Misha was cocooned in heat and soothing caresses. He finally began to feel calm again and the crushing revulsion of ending another life seemed to fade. He would never have expected it to hit him the way it had. He breathed in the dark, warm scent of Dean’s skin and felt the deep strokes from Cas’ fingers knead into his back. If he hadn’t been bracketed by both men, he probably would have sunk to the floor in a haze.

Taking a deep breath, he placed a tired kiss against Dean’s throat.

“When do we leave?” He asked.

The pregnant pause that followed his question left him sighing and closing his eyes tight, pressing into Dean’s shoulder with a groan.

“What is it?” Misha demanded.

“Without knowing exactly where to go…” Cas spoke close to his ear, “I can’t risk leaving without Jensen providing a link to bring me to the right world.”

Actually, yes, Misha had known that. Cas said something about it before but the last few days, while very enjoyable in parts, were still wearing him thin. Missing his family had become an ache that he was damn ready to get rid of. And besides, Cas and Dean needed their time alone and they couldn’t have that with him around. The instigator had become the third wheel, no longer needed to get things going… they were well on their way.

But, he thought, reconsidering, maybe he could give them privacy. There _was_ one last thing he wanted to do before he left.

“Cas?” He muffled out, still resting on Dean’s shoulder with his eyes closed.

“Yes Misha?”

“Can you bring me to Sam? There’s something I need to talk to him about.”

He felt the nod against the side of his head. He was resistant to moving and wished that he could walk around with them attached to him, but that was a little insane. He raised the heavy weight of his head and met Dean’s grim face of concern. A second before they vanished, Dean switched his focus from Misha to Cas, putting out a desire so strong that words were not necessary.

Castiel relocated them outside of a diner. It was a grungy, flat store-front with an unlit sign. Walking towards the door, Misha noticed Cas was following and he turned back with an apologetic smile, “Go back to Dean. It’s where you want to be.”

The angel looked uncertain, torn between staying and going. Finally, he said, “I’ll come get you if…, when we’re ready to go.”

“Thanks.” Misha turned back and wrenched the air-suctioned glass door open. Finding Sam near the back with a large salad and his iPad out, Misha sat in the seat across from him, drawing his attention away from whatever was on the tablet.

“Hey.” Sam pulled back, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re different than you used to be.” He announced grimly, too tired to start out with inane chitchat.

Sam’s lips flattened into an annoyed slash across his face. “You sound like Cas.” The younger brother voiced the comment in a way that sounded like much less than a flattering assessment of his personality.

“Well, I partly am.” He defended in a strong tone. “The two of you have been through a lot.” He reflected, running a hand over the back of his neck, stretching back against it with aching exhaustion.

“I have a good feeling about Dean though—because of Cas obviously—but you? You I worry about. When I first got here, I saw in you the man I know as Jared, but that lasted only a few minutes. The more I pay attention, the more I notice the lack of hope you have for the future and it worries me.”

“Why should I have hope? Have you seen the past?” Sam asked rhetorically. He stabbed at his salad and took angry bites like the Winchester could unleash his hatred on the paltry green leaves. Misha had to hold back a sigh and an eye roll, nearly choking with the effort. He just wanted to go home, and maybe, before he left, he could leave this place better than when he’d found it.  

“I know what’s happened to you—to you both; I also know what’s possible.” Misha pulled out his cell phone. It didn’t get cell service in this world. But he’d been able to plug it in and keep it charged. Sam watched, intrigued and mystified, while Misha scrolled through the photos and videos to find what he was looking for.

He pulled up the right one and hit play as he passed it across the table to Sam, who took the device with marked consternation. Misha remembered the day: A BBQ at Jared and Gen’s place, shortly after Shep was born. He saw the images in his mind without the benefit of the screen.

 

_Indistinct voices mumbled in the background. A breeze could be heard. The screen showed a flash of greenery and then a patio._

_“Dad!!” Thomas yelled. Jared laughed and hoisted the child up into the air, tossing him high enough that you could hear Gen scolding him in the background: “Jar! You’re too rough, watch it!”_

_“Kid wants to fly, Gen.” Jensen said from the end of the patio table, giving the camera a private smile. He turned and laughed at his friend being a goofball, who was throwing Thomas upwards again._

_The high-pitched elation of a kid’s laughter erupted from the phone, combined with the deep baritone of Jared’s._

_“Here hun, can you take Shep? C’mon sweetie, let’s go wash your hands.”_

_“Hey little man.” Jared crooned softly to the infant now in his arms._

_“Mish_ — _Ahh! Geez, watch your little terror, he’s throwing things._ Ow _! West, c’mon man!” The next second Jensen was barking a laugh, followed quickly by Misha’s own bubbly laughter from behind the camera._

_“Guys, Sheps sleeping, keep it down it, would ya?_

_“Dude, that kid can sleep through anything, he’s fine.”_

_A disgruntled noise, a clunk, and half a swear word signalled the end of the video. The image was frozen on a blurry Jared cradling his new-born son._

 

Misha had been watching Sam’s face the whole time. His eyes were watery with unshed tears.

“Why would you show this to me?” Sam managed to croak out.

“Because that goof—that happy, energetic, humanoid dog is more like who you used to be than who you are now. And the life he has? Kids and all? You _can_ have that. I get the continuation of tragedy for the purposes of the show, but c’mon, you and Dean need to get rid of Abaddon and get the hell out of dodge. The world will continue to turn without your aid.”

Sam gaped in a way that suggested he thought Misha was out of his mind.

“You don’t believe me. You don’t think it’s possible. Fine. But if you stay in this life, at least make an attempt to be the person I know you’re supposed to be, not the man that I see now.”

“I’m fine.” Sam argued pitifully.

“No. You’re really not.”

The lack of protest fortified his argument and so he said nothing else. They both sat quietly after that.

/\/\/\

Sam tuned into his own thoughts; thoughts of kids and a life unknown, a life he’d thought would always be out of reach. The newborn had been tiny in the man’s arms. The things he would give for that life…

He’d flirted with the idea of quitting hunting a couple times before. But then world-ending apocalypses always had a way of mucking up his plans for a quiet life. Or so it seemed that way. Would the world really still turn in the end? Or rather, to the end? Could he live with himself knowing that someone might die if he withdrew from this world?

Sam met Misha’s calculated stare, the actor watching the wheels turning in his head. Sam and Dean had been served a lifetime of bad luck and shit options in the form of pathways to the future. Maybe he’d paid his dues, maybe it was time.

If they took care of Abaddon, Crowley would be left. Could they live with him ruling Hell? Would it be an acceptable loss?

He forked around the remainder of his salad, smushing it as it wilted. He couldn’t get the image of the little boy’s delighted grin out of his mind.

“Can I watch it again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and enjoying this (if you still do) eek.. I hope you still do. :) Love ya's


	9. Whole Lotta Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry… didn’t mean to… uhhm…” Misha choked up, staring at them, all flushed and out of breath. Castiel could sense his unease and his desire. The actor turned fast and made to leave as though he’d been caught red-handed.
> 
> “Please stay.” Castiel stepped away from Dean and towards the other half of his soul, his essence—maybe not a literal half, but a piece of him to be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Never ignore coincidence. Unless, of course, you’re busy. In which case, always ignore coincidence.” - 11th Doctor
> 
> Tennyo is my beta, who is awesome, but also hilarious when doped up following dental surgery. :)
> 
> NSFW Fanart provided by [drawthelinestoallconstellations](http://drawthelinestoallconstellations.tumblr.com)

 

_July 18, 2011_

A cramp set off in his stomach again and he heaved hard, a torrent of chunky vomit expelling from his mouth and into the toilet. He grimaced, eyes straining, never having felt this awful before. His throat burned something rancid, he was slick with a cold sweat.

Misha heard a long sigh come from above. “You gotta take something…” Jensen pressed, hovering with worry.

Misha flicked his blood-shot eyes up and glared, _If I could keep anything down… obviously I would fucking take something._

Watery eyes blurred his vision and he grinded his teeth, clamping his mouth shut hoping to stop the urge to hurl again. He had no idea what he’d eaten, wasn’t even really sure that’s what it was. He felt like a total ass though, stopping production ‘cause he was sick. Really sick mind you, but still. And Christ, it had to be the first damn episode for the entire season.

Just the thought of the Leviathans taking over his character’s body somehow was enough to have him curling over the porcelain bowl again and hurtling the dredges of his stomach into it.

“Ugghhh….” He groaned afterward, sliding off the toilet and collapsing against the wall. Jensen’s green eyes suddenly filled up his watery vision.

There was cringing grimace evident in the tight lips and scrunch of his nose. Misha wished he would go away. Upchucking into a toilet was not exactly the sexiest thing Jen has seen him do.

“We should call a doctor or something, this is really bad.” Misha only closed his eyes at the suggestion, he agreed but didn’t at the same time.

True, it had been a long time since he’d suffered food poisoning but he never remembered it being quite this bad, or lasting quite this long.

Jensen disappeared through the door, muttering something about calling a doctor while taking his phone out of his pocket.

Misha stared at the empty doorway, his stomach twisting painfully. What he didn’t say, what he was afraid to say, was that it wasn’t just a physical sickness, there was something else there. A low-set fear had quickened his pulse, and an overwhelming dread over some form of loss that he couldn’t understand made his heart ache. Fuck, maybe he had some kind of cancer or something.

/\/\/\

_Present._

Castiel looked over his body, seeing the grace inside it, feeling it stretch out with familiar comfort and security.  He felt whole again and it was wonderfully peaceful. He was seated on Dean’s bed, thinking over the events of the day as Dean poured a glass of whiskey over by his tall wood dresser.

“What about you?” Dean asked him.

He glanced up. “What about me?”

“How are you?” Dean clarified.

“Oh. Well… I feel like myself again, I suppose.” He sighed before continuing. “Heaven is a mess.”

Dean said nothing, watching him with a greater intensity than before.

Castiel stood and walked over to the dresser, took the glass of amber liquid from Dean’s grasp and chugged it back. Dean smiled indulgently. Castiel barely registered the burn of the alcohol, instead it felt only warm, a myriad of rich flavour.

“Planning to get wasted?”  Dean tapped the glass in his hands.

“It would take a lot more than that now.” Castiel gestured to the mostly full bottle of whiskey on the dresser.

Dean chuckled softly and Castiel realized that they were standing very close, inching toward each other with subtle shifts. He placed the empty glass on the dresser and met Dean’s eyes with an unspoken… _something._ It hung in the space between them—a great pause of some kind. He didn’t know what it was. An impending question? A declaration? Whatever the look meant, Dean answered it with his lips and body, pressing against Castiel and kissing him with such enthusiasm that Castiel’s knees felt weak and his lungs became useless.  He could taste the alcohol on Dean’s tongue, the rich bold flavour leaching into him, better on Dean’s tongue than straight from the bottle. Castiel pressed Dean into the dresser with a stifled moan, pushing a knee between his legs and seeking friction.  Dean obliged, reaching around to pull Cas tight to him, angling his head to kiss harder and deeper.

A slight creaking drove them apart and their eyes fixed on the door, now ajar.

“Sorry… didn’t mean to… uhhm…” Misha choked up, staring at them, all flushed and out of breath. Castiel could sense his unease and his desire. The actor turned fast and made to leave as though he’d been caught red-handed.

“Please stay.” Castiel stepped away from Dean and towards the other half of his soul, his essence—maybe not a literal half, but a piece of him to be sure.

/\/\/\

Misha slowly raised his eyes to meet the angel’s.  The prospect of returning home, combined with the other events of the day left him feeling torn and frayed. The silent question on Castiel’s features, and Dean’s, was an obvious welcome sign that warmed him straight through and down below his waist. They both wanted him, here and now. Misha switched his focus rapidly between them, unsure if this was what he truly wanted, what they wanted.  None of them had any misconceptions about what this was, or what it would become if he stayed. Threesomes were certainly not foreign to Misha, not at all, but he was hard-pressed to invade, unwelcome, into their time alone. Despite his fantasies, and Dean’s, this had never been his intention.

Castiel resolutely ignored his hesitation, knowing probably, deep down, how badly Misha did want this—maybe even needed it on some level. The full-powered angel stepped up to him and captured his face softly between familiar hands. As always, Castiel kissed him in a way that felt like gratitude. Footsteps came closer, and then Dean’s fingers were slipping under the back of his shirt, pulling it up. Breaking the kiss, Cas took the front, and together, the angel and Dean removed his shirt. Misha felt Dean’s grin without needing to see it.

Glancing from Misha to Dean, Castiel’s questioning hesitation settled on Dean, a fearful worry that Dean didn’t want him afterall, or perhaps didn’t want this.

Even from his shielded vantage point, Misha felt the heat of Dean’s stare, and then the wet nibble and bite of Dean’s mouth on his ear, breath tickling sensitive places. Cas’ eyes slammed shut with need and relief.

While the touching and kissing of both man and angel left Misha with wavering willpower, he couldn’t let this continue, not this way. He threw his arms around Cas’ neck and leaned into his ear and whispered. Cas let out a thick groan of anticipation at his words and let go.

/\/\/\

Dean had no idea what had just been agreed upon, but whatever it was, led to the two of them grabbing each one of his hands and pulling him across the room. Dean had no idea how this would play out—made all the more complicated considering he was insanely in love with both. How that had happened—he’d no fucking clue.  All the porn in the world couldn’t have prepared him for this. He must be crazy to do this. But he would be crazier not to.

As they made it to the foot of the bed, both men slowly began to pull Dean’s clothes off. They took long interruptions between each layer to kiss him and rub down his arms, chest, and legs; sometimes grabbing the back of his neck to pull him in for a rougher tongue-dominating kiss.

The kind Cas was unleashing this very moment, holding his face still and licking inside his mouth as if there were nothing better than tasting Dean. Hands reached around from behind to sink down the front of his boxer-briefs, pressing him back against another warm body. Misha teased him with a massage over his thighs, grazing close but never enough.

Leaning towards Cas, Dean felt four strong hands palm all over his hips, the two men slowly tugging his boxer-briefs down his legs, groping a lot of skin on the way. Suddenly, totally naked, Dean felt nervous tension tug knots low in his belly. A vulnerability he’d never felt before built up and it left him feeling more naked than he’s ever felt in his life. He shivered with a surge of adrenaline, feeling like his stomach had just dropped to his knees.

Cas looked at him with that same intensity, but now it was warped, turned hot and less controlled. Dean started ripping Cas’ clothes off, discarded them with impatient jerks, throwing them carelessly across the room. In nothing now but plain white boxers, with a mouth-watering tent in the front, Dean unleashed his best mischievous grin on Cas, and then he reached back to undo Misha’s pants. Unwilling to turn around, he bent at the knees, dropping low to pull them down.

Dean found himself squatted between them with his head at crotch level and— _fuck_ —did that ever make him crazy hard. Aching in a straight line out from his body, and down to his nuts.

“Holy shit, this is really happening.” He blurted thoughtlessly, running his hands up Cas’ thighs, feeling Mish’s fingers press against his scalp in circles, encouraging.

Dean’s eyes raked over Cas’ body in front of him, taking in the unavoidable presence in his boxers and licking his lips at the sight. As if reading his thoughts, Misha reached around and pulled Cas’ boxers down until they fell to his feet.

Dean watched, captivated, as Misha’s perfectly sculpted hand closed around Cas’ thick erection, stroking him, while the other hand palmed the back of Dean’s head. _Oh my god…_

“Wrap your mouth around him, babe.” Misha licked the curve of his earlobe. Dean’s cock throbbed almost painfully, he balled his hands on his thighs to quell the urge to stroke himself. He glanced up and saw Cas staring down with wide eyes and parted lips.

Holding Cas’ lust-blown gaze, Dean did as told and nearly came as the hot, thick flesh filled his mouth. Castiel’s length jerked between his lips, a thumb grazed his cheek. He panted through his nose, sucking slow, taking cues from Misha’s hand massaging his head and guiding his pace and depth. Cas grabbed for Dean’s hands, intertwining their fingers and resting them over his bare, firm thighs, flexing with his small thrusts into Dean’s mouth.

Each push flooded his mouth with a heady, sexual taste that sent a tingle radiating out of his pelvis, cock pulsing with his heartbeat. He inhaled sharply through his nose, sucking back and mouthing at the head, wanting to give Cas ultimate pleasure. He thought he was doing pretty good if Cas’ blurred ramblings were another to mark his progress by. An ache grew in his jaw and he moved faster, Misha’s fingers digging into his scalp, legs pressing against his back.  

Cas’ tumble of words morphed into loud moans and strangled gasps, cranking up to a telling end. Dean hardened more, waiting, unable to stop, when suddenly Misha pulled up from under his arms, forcing him to let the thickness fall from his mouth. The moment Dean was on his feet Cas lunged at him, kissing and near growling into his mouth, pressing his wet cock against Dean’s, who sighed a whimper at that first graze of friction. A warm squeeze closed around them both, Misha’s hand, he realized with a throaty moan. Dean arched back against Misha’s chest, never letting Cas’ dark eyes leave him. Dean whimpered unwittingly, feeling overrun with sensation.

Floundering behind himself, Dean strained to get Misha fully naked and received a _tsk tsk_ in his ear and a firmer stroke that nearly derailed him. 

Fuck that! Dean turned abruptly, grabbing Misha and shoving him around to be in the middle. There was a small grumble of protest but Dean turned it into a low purr when he bit the side of Mish’s neck, a glare telling Cas to get those damn boxers off—the only piece of clothing left on any of them… and it needed to go. Like _now_.

Misha squirmed, not wanting to take the focus away from them (as was apparently his plan), “Guys, wait, stop, this isn’t supposed to be about me… I don’t want to— _Ooh… Christ._ ” Misha fumbled as Castiel followed Dean’s silent direction. He watched as Cas bent to suck a hard nipple into his mouth. Although ogled was more like it. Oh yeah, Dean was ogling for sure, especially when Cas flicked the bud with his eyes on Dean. _Christ Almighty_.

A warmth blanketed over his skin as Cas pulled the underwear down Misha’s legs and gently picked his feet up one at a time to get them all the way off. Starting at his ankles, kneeled on the floor, Cas kissed all the way up Misha’s long legs, while Dean kept the actor’s arms held behind his back in a light hold, chin resting on his shoulder to watch the show. Misha was losing himself, eyes fluttering and trembling slightly in Dean’s loose restraint. Kissing his neck, Dean felt Misha lean back, their fingers twisting together.

The air distorted in front of Dean’s eyes, like a steam on a hot day. The odd current ebbed between the two souls, soaking into the space around them. All the kissing and proximity had clearly awoken that link and it made them both slightly ethereal. Almost like Dean didn’t belong in their presence, he glanced down at his arm in shame, feeling it deep in his soul like an unwanted cattle brand.

His distraction was used to ply him back into the space between lean, tight muscle, All of them now fully, wondrously naked. Mmmm… _awesome_.

Heated damp skin became everything to his senses, and then wet lips and tongue joined the party, warming and cooling in shifts over his skin. He shivered as Cas sucked at his throat while Misha’s hands stroked over the curve of his ass and down the backs of his thighs, sliding boldly between his legs.

“Fuck… this… Oh, God…” His breaths panted too fast, moving in and out with the pace of their movements. He felt light-headed, straining for oxygen.

“Dean?” Cas was focused on him, fingers caressing his face, stroking along his cheek and jaw, moving to slide behind his ears. Dean felt something monumental slip into place, a vulnerability split open and filled by the angel. He shook, Misha’s hands slid over his sides and down his hips as Cas captured his mouth, a passion unleashed, their skin pressing close, bodies demanding touch. A warm breath made a pass down his spine and he arched with it.

“Do you want me?” Castiel asked abruptly, waiting on edge. “Do you want us?” He amended, reaching behind to hold them both. Dean thought the matter had been settled, but perhaps something in his expression caused the angel to ask again. Judging by how unhinged Dean felt, he was grateful, even though it was now beyond him to say no. If it ever was.

“Yes.” He swallowed and pressed close to Cas’ face, grabbing Misha’s arm and wrapping it around himself. “I don’t know what to do, I… I’m not as… I’m just… uhh… overwhelmed, yeah, okay?” Dean grumbled in a confusing mess of words. The hot press of erections into his lower body and humid breath on his skin screwed up his thoughts, but he knew he needed them, felt it down in his soul. They made him feel _good_ deep inside his heart, pumping light into his blackened existence.

Cas and Misha glanced quickly at each other, a silent exchange that Dean couldn’t decipher. He was about to ask when Cas kissed him hard and picked him up, throwing him on the bed, thoughts forgotten.

/\/\/\

Who’d ever thought of such a dumb idea for a light? Jensen wondered, staring up at the boob-shaped light, nipple and all, strapped to the ceiling in Misha’s bedroom of his apartment. He sucked back a shaky breath and wiped his face for the upteenth time. People always thought he was stiff and unfeeling much the way Dean was but truth be told he was a fucking sap and it had been days and Misha was still gone…

Fuck. He felt tears stream down the side of his temples into his hair and his throat ached with how much he’d been crying. He was way passed worry and fear and denial and anger and uncertainty. He was just… upset. Really fucking gone. Gone.

The shrill ring of his phone had him jumping up, rattled by nerves. He hadn’t eaten in god knows how many hours, and he’d been in this room for probably ten at least.

“Yeah?’ He answered in a crackle of sound.

“Christ, you okay?” Jared asked.

“No I’m not fucking okay. This isn’t a fucking joke man… he’s gone. What if he doesn’t come back. Vicki has been calling and calling and…”

“We need to call the cops. I know what we saw… but man, we need to.” The defeated ‘what else can we do’ was left unsaid. They had no wings, no mojo, no nothing. Add a clue into that big bag of zilch.

“Yeah… yeah I know.” He paused, sniffing loud and not giving a shit that it gave him away. “I’ll call Vicki.”

“Do you want me to call the police?” Jared asked softly.

“What the fuck are you even gonna say?”

Jared turned it back on him, “what are you gonna say to Vicki?”

Fuck… who knows. “I was gonna go with the truth.”

Shortly after hanging up with who he considered a brother, he lowered the phone and recalled the Collins’ family home number by heart, just about ready to dial and hit each number one at a time, when an unexpected, and honestly alarming bout of lust surged through him, enough that his hips canted up into the air and his hand flew down to cover his sudden erection.

What-“the Hell?” He fumbled, eyes closing out the ceiling and accompanying booblight. Every inch of skin flushed hot and he wondered if he had a really fucked up fever from lack of food and sleep.

The commanding presence of arousal took over, and the phone fell out of his hand, reaching down to join his other. He stroked all over himself, unable to stop, not knowing why. Mindless, he reached into loose sweatpants and jerked himself in frantic desperate strokes, wholly unsatisfying, like it wasn’t enough. The more he stroked, or maybe the longer the passing of minutes, the harder he felt, but the passes of his hand did nothing to alleviate the ache, nothing to push him over the edge.

He wildly shifted on the bed, legs sore and uncomfortable, his nuts feeling like a bruise and then, without any warning whatsoever, he came in a rapid burst, shooting come into his pants with an airless shout that made zero sound.

Then he passed out.

 

/\/\/\

 

Misha watched as Cas dropped Dean smoothly onto the bed. The angel commanded all of Dean’s focus by kneading the muscles of his legs, planting lingering kisses up the inside of his calves and over the sides of his knees, then the sensitive inside of his thighs. Dean squirmed with each touch, every slip of tongue closer to the centre of his body unravelled him further.

Through hazy eyes Misha watched them, reaching down to stroke himself a few times, hardened more the longer he gaped.  He took a breath and walked to the far side of the bed, reached over and grabbed Dean’s strong hands. Dean flinched, tensing a bit as Misha pulled back, dragging him on the bed so his body stretched across the queen-size sideways, his arms extended over his head. Castiel adjusted Dean’s legs on the other side and used the hold on his ankles to plant Dean’s feet on the edge of the mattress two-feet apart.

Dean flexed under their hold, a groan escaping in a wanton sound, his head rolling back against the mattress. Misha surveyed the expanse of skin as Cas crawled over his laid-out form, bracing on Dean’s raised knee to bend down and lick up from his belly button to finally pull a peaked nipple into his mouth. Dean arched up, pulling his arms that Misha held firm.

Castiel continued his ministrations, teasing Dean with a wet, loud trail of kisses all over his skin. Low muffles of adoration fell from Cas’ mouth as he explored Dean’s body, every stretch of his skin, and seam, and curve. _Beautiful,_ he’d murmur, and _taste so good._

Keeping hold of Dean’s wrists, Misha bent and kissed the soft skin of his arms, including the Mark of Cain. Dean jerked in mild alarm, clearly hating the attention to his fault. Cas’ eyes flicked up from the distraction, but they both continued to drown Dean in their touch, overriding his senses and his shame.

Castiel paused when he reached Dean’s face, staring down into it with open admiration. His eyes were dark with want and Misha took it all in, seeing the two of them fulfil this need was a privilege he wasn’t sure he should be allowed.

Castiel licked slowly over Dean’s mouth, who moaned and opened up to let the angel in. Cas lowered his hips between Dean’s legs and Misha gawped, mesmerized as Cas’ ass flexed as he thrust against Dean, grinding them together. Dean’s mouth went wide, a choked noise escaping, and then nothing but air and fluttering eyelids.

/\/\/\

A hot length of iron glided against Dean’s, rubbing with sublime friction. The press of his and Cas’ groins together, crushing and grinding into each other and he was suddenly cringing back a flood of sensation—a deep ache that brought tears to his eyes. He felt lost, drifting in the unknown. His body no longer his, no longer controllable. The only thing keeping him grounded was the feel of Cas’ mouth moving with his, a tongue darting between his lips, chests expanding together, and, of course, the hands holding him still.  Odd as it was, the restraint was necessary. Something to hold on to as he let go.

Cas broke away, moving down to his neck; that light stubble teasing the sensitive skin had Dean twisting, nearly laughing in ecstasy.

“Cas… Cas….Cas…” He repeated over and over again.

The angel in question sat back between Dean’s open thighs, gripping his raised knees, squeezing tight and staring down at him.  Dean met the darkened arousal with blatant invitation. Cas kissed his knee with a wide smile. Dean nervously chuckled and grabbed onto Misha’s hands, linking their thumbs together at the upside-down angle.

“I want you…” Dean breathed in a weak voice.  “Fuck, I want this… all of this.” He felt crazier than any witchy spell could have cooked up but he didn’t care. He craved their touch. It felt more real and good than anything else he’d ever known.

Cas ran a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the inside of his thigh, watching him on the descent. When the angel reached the juncture at his hips, he glanced up at Dean. “You have no idea what it does to me to see you like this. Open and exposed, trusting, willing… I never…” Cas abruptly stopped, choked up in a way that Dean had never seen before. “I never thought I would ever have this with you.” The angel clenched his jaw, struggling with emotion that seemed so out of place. “I feel truly blessed.” 

Dean’s body warmed with the words, like Cas’ love was radiating over him, and fuck, maybe it was? Cas mouthed loudly, moaning against the inside of his groin, licking at his nuts, making his head slam back against the mattress. The first swipe of wet, warm tongue up the underside of his shaft forced a number of profanities to spill from his mouth in whispers—not sure why it felt so much better than it should. He felt as if his senses were heightened, everything amplified like he was feeling it doubled over and on drugs.

“Fuck… Cas.” He flexed up into Cas’ open mouth, wet heat surrounding his cock so good he squeezed his ass and his hole fucking tingled.

Making it so much fucking worse, Mish started sucking on his fingers. Hands pressed on Dean’s triceps, a dark shape clouded above him, leaning over for an upside-down kiss, Misha licked down against his tongue. The position made it so that Mish’s firm cock landed right into Dean’s spit-slickened hands, perhaps on purpose Dean thought, smiling against Misha’s mouth, feeling one in return. And he readily, if not awkwardly, reached up to stroke the hard erection, jerking with one hand and feeling between muscular legs with the other.

Castiel sucked Dean hard, so tight and wet, his dick throbbing inside the angel’s hot mouth. Dean moaned his arousal on Mish’s tongue, trying harder to please him with firm strokes.  Dean started undulating so much that they struggled to keep him in place.

Cas licked around the base of him, up and down the shaft, sucked only the head and then dropped down to lick down behind his heavy sac. Dean opened his mouth to breathe and Misha moved away, rearranging himself to the foot of the bed on Dean’s left.

Dean frowned at the loss, grumbling for more. Misha’s free hand tickled down his side and Dean squirmed in pleasure, unable to hold down an eruption of laughter, that is until Cas licked right over his puckered entrance.

“Fuuuuck, oh my… god. Oh, shit.” Dean turned to the side and met Misha’s hungry blue stare, seeking affirmation or support, he didn’t know. He was losing himself. If ecstasy and weed were combined into a single drug, it _might_ manage to give the high he now felt.

“What do you want Dean?” Misha asked.

Dean stretched and moved erratically, caught up in the slide of Cas’ tongue. “Everything…” He stared up to the ceiling. “Lose myself to this.” He undertoned and then bit down on his lip.

Misha rubbed over Dean’s abdomen, going down to where his hair thickened from the line down from his belly-button.

Cas licked harder, pressing and pushing against him; the feel of saliva dripping down to the bed. Suddenly two hands wrapped around his cock, each stroking in counter movements: Cas from the bottom up and Misha from the head downwards.  It was awesome and irritating at the same time, his hips not knowing which way to move.

A wet, slick stretching alerted him that Cas had just tongued inside his ass. He strained upwards, legs falling farther apart.

“Oh god… please never stop this. Never leave me.”

The words, falling mindless out of his mouth, created an unwanted pause—both sets of blue eyes flashed up to him—intimate touching coming to a swift halt.

“Dean…” Cas spoke softly, a worry of sorts causing a tired frown.  

“I didn’t…” Dean had no concept of what he was about to say so he cut it short.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Cas moved up and draped himself over Dean, cradling him and kissing him in a hard crush of their lips. “I promise you that.”

It didn’t escape Dean’s notice that Misha said nothing. It hurt him more than it should, he did his best to hide it. This whole experience had thrown him off his sturdy, bowed legs, _literally_ , and he was left feeling weak, boneless and emotionally unstable—if such a thing were possible for Dean Winchester—which he’d apparently discovered it was.

Castiel continued to kiss him, grind into him until he made his way back down between Dean’s legs. Dean reached and pulled at Misha, feeling a hesitation but not giving one fuck that Misha felt bad about leaving him. He’d known it was coming, and Dean was damn well going to take full advantage of the here and now.

Leaning over Dean from the end of the bed, they kissed slowly until interrupted by Cas’ charming grin, who took Misha for himself, twisting his head to the side and letting electricity crackle through the air. 

Entranced and struck-stupid, Dean watched them move together. It was effortless, they tilted their heads at the same moment, angling to kiss deeper, breaking away in sync and coming back with a matched passion. It was no wonder Dean was powerless, they were a damn tag-team and he was the one being conquered. Not that he minded in the least.

/\/\/\

Sam had usurped the iPhone for himself. He was going on his thirtieth replay by now, and that was only of the first video Misha had shown him. He’d found a lot more: videos and pictures in an endless scroll. Some of course he could’ve lived without seeing, a lot of bare skin for instances. He finger-swiped past that shit real fast.

He thought it would have been weird seeing so many lovey-dovey pictures of him and who he remembered as Ruby. But damn, this woman was _not_ Ruby. The warmth in her eyes, the love and affection that poured out of the 2-dimensional screen was astounding, it struck him with unwavering desire. 

Seeing Jensen with his wife and their little girl made him smile as well. That sheer happiness was so rare on that handsome face he’d known his whole life. A source of protection and support. He knew his brother was attractive to most people but their life had stripped him of the charm he’d once had—a spark that had recently returned.

Clearly, much to Sam’s chagrin, his older brother had found that key to happiness. Where his key was he had not one clue. Another world apparently… A life that didn’t belong to him.

Misha had seemed sure that Sam could have that in this godforsaken place. But with who?

After dropping Misha back at the bunker, he’d taken off again, not wanting to be around their weird happiness. He feigned discomfort over the whole thing, but truthfully, Dean could make love to whoever, and how many people he wanted to as long as it made him happy.  It was the happiness that really bothered Sam. It was juvenile to feel that way but he simply couldn’t help it.

He drove himself out to a vacant swath of land, tall grass swaying hard in currents of wind, place deserted for miles. It was chilly, but he pulled his coat tighter around himself and gripped the phone in one hand, using his other to swipe through each picture. There was some strange shit on here… a disturbing array of pictures of kale— _yes_ , the vegetable—in various settings. A lot of pics of Misha’s kids and his wife, some of Misha in drag which Sam had to find some way to copy onto to his phone.

Hours passed by and he grew colder. He wondered if it was safe to return to the bunker yet. Even if he wanted to believe Misha, find someone to settle down with maybe, he sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now. And besides, what was he gonna do? Find some chick in a bar? It wasn’t exactly a prescription for long-term love when your meet-cute was: “So your mom and I met at Alan’s Crab Shack and Grill, and over seafood and cheap beer we fell madly in love.” Yeah… not so much. Sam wanted more than that.

/\/\/\

Lights flickered overhead, the image of Cas and Misha leaning towards each other lit up and then turned to shadow with each repeated flash.

Hoping to draw their attention back to him, he reached out and fingered a line down Mish’ lean stomach, poking into his belly-button, forcing a giggle up and into Cas’ mouth. Dean smirked and then continued down to grab at Mish’ erection jutting out towards him. A growl permeated the room and Dean’s hand was grabbed and restrained above his head again.

“Hmm… c’mon!” He protested, arching up with a roll of his hips, finally stealing their focus. He grinned as they looked down at him, evidently liking what they saw.

“That’s more like it.” Dean licked his lips.

“You seem far too coherent for my liking…” Cas tilted his head, considering his options no doubt.

“Well, I’ve had time to recover while you two fricasseed my electrical wiring.”

Misha laughed and bent over to kiss him. Then slid a hand up the exposed underside of his arms, stretched behind his head. Fingers rubbed into Dean’s palms and then splayed across both hands, linking them together once more.

The physical separation between Dean’s relentless torturers set the lights steady again and the low light was dim, getting sucked into the dark colours of the room.

Misha resumed his post at Dean’s head, leaning over and smiling down at him, kissing in broken patterns of tongue and lips, dipping into his mouth for a taste before moving on to new territory; Dean’s chest, his neck, hmmm, his nipples.

He was just about to strain up and look for his angel when demanding hands pushed his legs apart, having fallen closed with restlessness and need for friction. He groaned with the thought of Cas exposing him for his purpose. The angel’s hands pressed up the insides of Dean’s thighs and he suddenly felt hot breath blow over his jerking cock. Holding his hips in place, Cas swirled his tongue around the head before sucking him deep until Dean was fully sheathed in wet heat.

“Mmm…” He mumbled, his sounds muffled by Misha’s mouth.

Both of them drove him to the edge several times, rubbing his body, Cas sucking him tightly, wet lips wrapped around his cock, a tongue languidly sliding into his mouth. Dean reached awkwardly to grasp Misha’s cock, somewhat placed in his hands, but he struggled, wanting so much to please them both.

WIth an abrupt shift, Misha moved away and out of sight. Before Dean could wonder where he’d gone to, Cas was up and straddling over his waist, bending in a curve to get access to Dean’s mouth. With his hands now free, he looped them around Castiel and tried to bring them closer, more flush together, wanting their bodies meeting head to toe.

“Want you…” He kissed and panted against wet lips. “Sooo much.” Oh fuck… he was losing it.

“Me too.” Cas said against his ear, sending a shiver rippling down his spine and ending right at the place Cas had licked into before, now tingling with how bad he wanted this.

“Fuck…” Dean yanked Cas lower until he could kiss the line of his neck from earlobe to collarbone, tonguing at the delicate skin and making the angel writhe over him.

After a long moment, they paused, staring, drinking the other in and feeling the weight of everything happened and about to. The sacrifices, the hidden longing, the insecurity, and fear.  Dean had wanted this for so long and now he was getting it all.

He smiled stupidly.

Cas grinned back just as lovestruck.

In the same breath, they each looked back over their heads, Cas angling up and Dean arching back to see Misha holding a bottle of KY in one hand and stroking himself with the other, his head tipped low to watch them; a barely restrained fire burning in his dark blue gaze. The actor reluctantly let go of himself and stepped forward, passing the bottle to Cas who took it, meeting Dean’s silent question with timid excitement.

/\/\/\

The little bottle felt foreign in his hand, he stared at it and wondered how such a thing managed to become so significant, a Pavlovian response he supposed. On that note, he roamed his gaze over Dean’s naked body and his mouth watered, he swallowed and licked his lips, feeling more human than he thought possible.

His skin felt like it had been electrified, a hum coursing through him different than what happened with Misha, but no less thrilling. Dean’s stare was clouded over with arousal, lids hanging low and green eyes looking very dark. Castiel knew he should move back, touch Dean with slippery fingers, spread him open but he found himself glued to Dean’s face, memorizing every detail in this moment.

“Dean.” He found himself saying in a whisper, a swelling in his chest nearly overwhelmed him.  Dean bit his lip and moved his body in response, an obvious strain of flexing muscles and basic need.

A spike of arousal broke his trance and he kissed Dean in a hard press against his mouth. He ended the kiss, but didn’t back away, their faces still touching. He hummed and bumped Dean’s nose with his own. “I love you.”

Dean visibly preened with happiness. “Love you too…” He answered with a controlled voice, suppressing the same urge Cas probably had to burst like a dam.

The bed creaked softly as Castiel shifted back over to the side of the bed, he grabbed Dean’s hips and shoved him further to the other side, giving Castiel space to lose himself. Which he planned to do, many times over.

Was it wrong to hope Jensen wouldn’t pray this very minute? He glanced to Misha and saw a soft grin plastered to his face. 

Mine. He thought possessively, eyes taking note of every cut of Dean’s hard body. From the moment I touched you.

 _Mine_.

/\/\/\

Shit… Cas had never looked at him quite like that. He felt owned. But in a good way. Which was stupid, probably. Not that he cared. Their little run of foreplay had been going on for what felt like a lifetime and he was more than ready to turn up the heat, and desperate to hear the sound of Cas’ body slapping against his own. Fuck.

Dean spread his legs, and Cas dropped his head low so Dean only saw the dark mess of hair but, christ, did he ever feel that tongue. Jesus mother of Satan…

The light above became shielded by Misha leaning over him, reaching to grab the backs of his knees. Dean swallowed, his cock throbbed and jerked as Misha pulled his legs back towards his chest, spreading them wide.

“Holy, fuck. Mish…” He panted, staring up into Misha’s adorant gaze. Cas moaned from between his legs, stretching him with a probing tongue. Pinned down and at their mercy, Dean shook with utter delirium.

The bed dipped and Cas was on his knees again, giving Dean that _your are mine_ kind of look that drove him insane.  The angel reached out and Mish took Cas’ outstretched hand automatically sucking fingers into his mouth. The ceiling light flared bright and dimmed.

Before he knew it, Cas was reading his reaction as two wet fingers gently nudged into him. He blew out a harsh breath, grabbing for Misha. Cas fingered him slow at first, drawing in and out, and then added his second hand to the action, circling around Dean’s swollen red cock, hot as fuck against Cas’ cooler skin.

“Ohmygod… u _hh_.” Dean vision danced wildly around the room, his breath streaming out in a rush.

The world spun into a blurry haze, and he was so aroused that it ached, bordering on severe discomfort.  He felt a rumble in his chest, a continuing deep baritone that he soon realized was himself, groaning and near thrashing. Could barely handle this… how was he gonna take everything?

“Dean… Dean…” A  palm pressed against his cheek, guiding him to look up. Cas.

“Hey.” He answered, barely more than a creak of sound.

Cas’ eyes flicked up to Misha and then back down, “Are you okay?”

“God… more than okay, morethanokay, more… ughhh… God, more.” He murmured, squeezing tight around Cas’ fingers and shifting his hips with what little movement he was able considering Misha still had hold of his legs.

Some level of uncertainty shifted between Cas and Misha but Dean didn’t care, and the more he undulated on the bed, whimpering for them both, they snapped out of whatever the fuck they were wasting time thinking about.

Cas was everywhere, all around him, and Mish, who’d ended up on the bed now, kneeling beside Dean’s head, holding down the leg closest to him, while Cas held the other.

A hot flush of skin met him head to toe, Cas’ mouth crashing against him, plying him open, seeking hungry kisses. The bed shifted, rolling them a bit, and then he felt it. The hard push of Cas’ hot, slippery, curved head squeezing into him, stretching him open.

A litany of Cas’ name passed over his lips, and with each inch going in he’s sure he stuttered. He’s been fucked… but goddamn, never like this. Whether it was a passive reaction to their weird energy, he didn’t know, but Dean felt drunk with pleasure.

“Dean… ohh, _fuu—_ ” Cas face scrunched up only an inch away, his back in an arc over Dean, hips pressing tight to him.

The hard cock spearing into him moved carefully at first, hips holding steady with each thrust and Dean writhed blindly in his limited capacity, begging for more and harder.

Cas gave up trying to control himself and slammed into him.

“F _uuuuck!!!_ ” Dean yelled, Cas growling and grunting as he moved in desperate motions, ramming their bodies together harder, mouths crashing together in sloppy kisses that turned into nips and downright tongue-fucking as they claimed each other.

Everything was so fast and disorientating, but he saw, from the corner of his eye, Misha’s glazed over rapture in watching them, fisting himself in speedy pumps. He kneeled closer when he saw Dean staring, Cas now looked to the side as well.

Misha moaned loud, “God, the two of you… Hmm _mmm!”_ Grasping Cas’ face, Misha kissed him hard, Dean getting a brilliant view this close. The kiss, with it’s accompanying surge of power, had Cas’ dick jerking inside him, hardening and stretching him until the fit of them together was so fucking tight, his own dick was leaking from overstimulation.

In a flash, Cas was back on him, Misha reached between their sweat-dampened lower belly’s and jerked Dean and himself. The bed frame was jarring on the floor as Cas thrashed into him, fucking him hard and without restraint. Dean let him and loved it. Every pound against his hips and ass sent a wave of pleasure to the top of his head and the tips of his toes, curling in the air.

“ _Cas_! Fuck… Cas, oh shit,...so mmm.” Dean had the urge to bite on his knuckles, the pleasure so intense he needed to scream.

“Gonna…, I’m _Fuck_! Dean, I…” Cas’ body suddenly went taut, every muscle hardening in a flash, and then shaking. Everything shaking, the bed, Dean, Cas’ cock jerking wildly inside of him, a hot surge of come spilling into him.

A rush of tingling set off throughout his body and he was letting go, releasing hard with Misha’s hand holding him tight, stroking the pulses right out of him, squeezing each drop of come now a messy puddle on his abs.

Heaving air like a man fresh out of a sprint, Cas crowded over him, distractedly still thrusting inside, not even a little less hard than before.

“Again?” Was all he said.

Dean rolled his head back, eyes closed, and whimpered his approval. _Except…_

Turning to the side, Cas grinning wide and excited, Dean reached out to Misha, who was still iron-hard, and softly touching himself. A little shifting and rearranging and Dean ended up on his hands and knees, with Misha mostly under him on the pillows. A firm grip on his hips, Dean felt Cas hold him in place, knowing what was coming, Dean took as much of Misha into his mouth as he could and still breathe.

With a huffed pant, Cas drove in deep, Dean still ready from before. Though for the life of him couldn’t remember when everyone had lubed up, but he was more than a little out of it. The hard thrust sent Dean forward, nearly choking himself. After that, he made sure to keep his hands planted firmly on Misha’s hips, or the bed.

  


/\/\/\

Nearly two hours later, they’d discovered too much direct intimacy between Misha and Cas got a little volatile, the light had simply blown out and they were now pretty much in complete darkness, with the exception of a single candle that Cas had flicked into life.  At full power, Cas was able to keep them going with little rebound time and no need for water or food. After all three of them had finished twice, things slowed down, the rampant need dialing down to a low burn that kept them constantly reaching for each other but never grasping impatiently.

Dean was thrusting slow into Misha, a first for them. They’d somehow abandoned the bed, and were standing, Dean at Misha’s back leaning them against the wall. Cas was crouched behind Dean, licking at him and stroking himself, whispering to them both how good it was, and how he could watch them forever, and how he wished he could be inside Misha without taking out the Bunker’s power system.

Misha shuddered as he came into Dean’s hand, his channel clamping down on Dean. Dean hadn’t been quite ready to finish, wanting to savour it more, but Cas derailed that by fingering into him and stroking over his prostate until he was screaming for what felt like the millionth time that night and shaking his ejaculate into Misha, his hips canting so hard that he accidentally slipped out and the last of the ropes of come landed all over the curve of Mish’s ass and in a splatter against his hole.

Misha huffed a drunken chuckle and banged his head against the wall in a tired slump.

“We need, uhh, those small shower blanket things, christ, towels… fuck. Can’t speak. Ugh.” Misha grumbled and Dean groped at his ass cheek with a possessive growl, getting a spark of response from both of them. Cas standing up and pressing between Dean’s crease, riding against now very sensitive places.

“Dean, Cas… I, fuck, I need sleep. My legs feel like noodles.” Misha pushed off the wall and landed on Dean’s chest. Cas took Mish from his arms and lifted him easily, legs rounding Cas’ waist.

“Hmm... this is fun.” Mish crooned, nuzzling into Cas’ neck, who laughed throatily.

Cas deposited Mish on the bed and tucked him under the blankets. Peering down at the now content actor, sated and bleary, Cas brushed his sweaty hair back in a tender gesture.

“You are so captivating,” Cas observed with awe. Mish grinned in a shy way, and Dean wanted to laugh. Misha was anything but shy usually.

The two stared at each other until Mish started to drift off. Just as his eyes lowered, they flashed open again, “Cas—?”

Cas nodded, knowing already what he needed to hear. “I’ll wake you the moment I hear his prayer.”  Cas frowned slightly, “It may be abrupt. Shall I ensure you have clothes on?” Misha yawned with little care, worries set aside, and dipped his head once.

  /\/\/\

Castiel turned back to Dean, naked and glorious in the candlelight, his body covered in a sheen of sweat and come. Of course, Cas could have easily cleaned him up, but didn’t want to. He liked Dean a little dirty with their actions.

Like a brand. He thought idly. Glancing down once confirmed his suspicion, the one that he and Misha had shared silently earlier with furtive glances while Dean was too far gone to notice.

Dean had been right… more than he knew. Cas smiled and walked towards his love. Meeting him halfway, Dean pulled him tight, their skin slippery with sweat against each other, a sigh of content escaping them both.

“I want to…” Dean began and Cas kissed him quiet.

“I know… me too.” His eyes glinted at Dean. It was the one thing they hadn’t done yet. Not purposely of course, but things had simply gotten carried away. Castiel was excited to have this quiet moment with Dean--not that it would stay quiet for long, he smirked.

Dean grabbed the nearly empty KY bottle, and backed Cas towards the door, a predatory gleam dominating his features. Far past reservations and any nervous embarrassment Dean squirted a good amount into his hand, staring at Castiel as he did.

With a coated, slippery palm, Dean stroked himself in long feels, sliding over the head of himself and Cas licked his lips when Dean’s head lolled back.

His back pressed against the cold expanse of the door, Dean’s strong hands reached for his ass and gripped hard, hoisting him up. Castiel used his wings to make it easier, the light flutter causing Dean’s eyes to blow wide at the thought.

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” He palmed at Cas’ back, stroking down his spine to his ass, the other hand digging in around his thigh. 

One blink and then Dean was thrusting into him, right full to the hilt, Dean’s pelvis crushing against his inner hips and backside.

“Jesus…” Dean managed in a gravelly voice.

“Not exactly.” Cas replied instantly, without thinking. Dean chuckled and the movement shifted them as Dean readjusted his hold, getting a better grip, although not needing much since Cas took most of the weight himself.

The air in the room felt thick, and though he didn’t need it, he wanted it, chasing after each breath, the taste of sex on his tongue as Dean got going, splitting him open, moving them together in a rhythm. The slapping sound joined the bang of his head crashing against the door when it got too intense. Dean’s erratic thrusts, cock hard and flexing in his ass, and Castiel kept wanting to throw his head back and, each time, forgot about the damn door.  

Dean was breathing heavy against the curve of his neck, pausing every so often to kiss him with an open mouth, sucking at his skin and licking up the front of his throat and over his chin, right into his mouth.

“Mmm… Dean.” Dean’s thrusts pushed him up, thick erection stroking him from the inside and towards a rushing release he felt coming. “Dean.”

“Come on me, babe… come.” The arms around Castiel tightened into a bear hug and Dean used the grip to fuck harder and faster until they were both yelling and banging against the door. _Oohh… oh._

_Dean, Dean, fuck… Dean “Dean!”_

Castiel came. On Dean. A lot. And then some….

“Cas, Cas… _Fuck_. So amazing, s’good, I…, Jesus, you’re such a mess.” He chuckled, air puffing on Cas’ throat. “We’re so goddamn filthy.” Dean laughed in little short bursts of sound. Cas still felt a drifting lack of concentration from his orgasm, floating in and out of the here and now.

Luckily, he felt Dean’s release seep down his leg. It saved him from having to ask if Dean had finished because he’d been too caught up in his own pleasure to notice.

/\/\/\

The corner of Dean’s lip twitched at the guilty, shy little smile on Cas’ face that followed in the aftermath of their sex.

The pressing heat from arousal dissipated and it was like a storm had left the room. Their pent-up tension finally fucked into silence… at least for the time being, Dean thought happily.

They found themselves standing together, silently stroking the other in loving touches, both watching the lump in the bed breathe, chest moving up and down in a deep slumber that even their earlier screaming and nearly breaking the door hadn’t interrupted.

There was one more thing Dean wanted, even after all that. “I know you’re all angel’d up and powerful again, but…,” he tugged on Cas’ hand, “can you sleep with me?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow, not sure what to expect. He knew Cas didn’t _need_ to, but did that mean he couldn’t?

 

Under the blankets with Cas on his left and Mish on his right, Dean beamed, despite being tired as all hell. Cas said yes, Cas loved him. _Wooohoo!!!_ He yipped childishly.

He and Cas were cuddled together and after some time, he realized Cas kept stroking his arm. Then, with fear-driven energy, he remembered the weird looks Cas and Misha kept exchanging with each other. Dean didn’t want to look.

Closing his eyes, he shoved Cas’ hand away and covered his forearm with his palm. He met Cas’ eyes—they were telling. A secret banked there.

“Move your hand Dean.” Cas encouraged softly. Dean did and couldn’t bring himself to look down. But then his eyes flicked low of their own accord and he saw it.

Or rather… didn’t see it.  There was a very faint pink shadow of what the mark used to be, but it was hardly there at all.

“What the fuck?” Dean exclaimed, sitting up immediately. He just couldn’t take this lying down. It was too big.

“The Mark, in and of itself, is a darkness. It allows the bearer, not only to be strong enough, but depraved enough to undertake the actions for which the Mark was created for.”

“Killing.” Dean supplied. Cas nodded gravely.

“Don’t get too excited,” Cas warned. “It will not go away. I don’t think. Truthfully I did not expect this. But, it seems, the presence of two people you love, adding to that the flow of primal energy between Misha and myself have a strong influence against the darkness that the Mark builds in you.

“You already felt the effects, the physical changes the Mark has made you feel, have been reduced greatly these last couple days has it not?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well. Not when I thought you were both dead.” He grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face as the cold threatened to return. Cas, leaning on his elbow, rubbed Dean’s chest and down to his abdomen, snaking lower to cup his sated cock.

He harrumphed, “Trying to make me feel better?”

“Yes.” Cas grinned, and then bit his lower lip.

“So you’re saying we need to have sex so I don’t kill people?” Dean purred and crowded over Cas as he slid back into the bed.

“Well… I would hope your body and soul would suffice with kisses and cuddling and kind words as well. I honestly hope I am more than sex to you.”

Dean felt like he’d been slapped. He grasped Cas’ face in his hands and pinned him with his most serious face. “I. Love. You.” He spoke firm and loud. Like fucking hell this was just about sex. It was the fevered, intense love that had him screaming and writhing on that bed, not a regular fuck-session.

“You hear what I’m saying?” Dean breathed into his face.

“Yes.” Cas smiled warmly at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Good… no doubts, no lying anymore… I’m sick of it.” He muttered, feeling Cas’ unyielding gaze on him.

“Well, I mustn't disobey Dean Winchester.” Cas shifted against him, a hard cock nudging against Dean’s thigh.

“My god, how are you still hard?” Dean murmured, rubbing against it anyway, hopelessly responding to Cas’ body like his own was a tuning fork for Cas’ arousal.

“I’m an angel. I have no refractory period.” 

“Hmm… I do. But, shit, right now, I want to flip you over and take you again.”

The sheets rustled, the movement of them jostling the sleeping form no more than a foot and a half away, still dead to the world.

Dean’s cock probably would have felt a little raw at this point, but thanks to Cas, he slid in deep and it felt just as good as before, a tight grip squeezing him. So. Blissfully. Goddamn. Good.

Right in the middle of fucking Cas face-first into the bed, he stopped and pressed in close to Cas’ ear. “I love you. You hear me? Even when I’m in deep and screaming mindless, it’s not only because this feels so fucking good, it’s because it’s you.” He glanced quickly to the left. “Or him.” He laughed. “You know what I mean.”

Cas chuckled and grinded his ass up. “I love you too… and I would loooove for you to keep going.” Dean barked a laugh and thrust hard, smacking their bodies together with a purring moan.

/\/\/\

“When did you last see him?” The officer asked him. He looked over to Jared, who shrugged.

“Uhhh… we were doing a scene. And, umm, he, uhh—”

“Disappeared.” Jared finished for him. Thank fuck.

“I’m sorry. Disappeared, like walked away and didn’t come back, right?” The black-haired, dark-skinned cop asked. He was built tough and wide like a linebacker and Jensen could tell he was keeping a keen eye on both of them. To be fair to the guy, they were being a little less than forthcoming.

“Uhh. Sure.” Jared said, eyes flicking to Jensen.

After forty minutes of utterly useless Q&A, the cop and his tag-along left.

Jensen had woken up covered in his own crusty mess. The whole episode before he’d passed out felt surreal, like it hadn’t really happened—despite the evidence. He felt like shit about it. Misha goes missing and he friggin’ jacks off in his bed instead of telling his wife. Fucking asshole is what he was.

He’d cleaned up, changed pants, and called Vicki. Fucking unbelievably, she’d believed him. Every word. Or perhaps she was assuaging him for now, and was calling a mental hospital in the meantime. Of course, Jared backing up his story had helped, two of them couldn’t be equally insane with the same delusion.

Jared was talking to him, but Jensen had tuned him out a while ago. At some point, his pseudo-brother left.

He eyed the kitchen and knew he should eat, but the task seem daunting. Getting off the couch seemed daunting. He dropped his head into his hands and sighed, fighting back the urge to cry all over again. After Vicki, he’d called Danneel and told her everything as well. She was gonna drop JJ off at Gen’s and take the first flight out. Nothing more needing to be said.

He went to replant his feet to get up, when a lump on the floor caught his attention under his foot. He shifted his heel and saw a beige strap. Reaching down, he grappled under the couch and yanked on a wad of fabric.

The fucking coat.

Jensen burst out laughing, almost manically.  Misha had stolen Cas’ trenchcoat, he should’ve known. Fuck, it must have been shoved under that couch for a while.

And then he remembered… a drunken night after a fight. A big one actually. Jesus, he couldn’t even remember what for, but Misha had stolen the coat and they’d ended up back here. And had wild make-up sex on top of the damn thing. Probably how it eventually had ended up under the sofa, likely getting kicked out of the way the next morning.

Castiel’s coat, he thought, fingering the seams with a fond attention.

Suddenly the angel felt real to him as he sat there holding that familiar fabric. Knowing exactly how soft it was, where all the buttons were. Right there in the forefront of his mind, he knew. And he prayed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the humpity-hump has been a long time coming! Hope it was good enough. 
> 
> There is one more chapter to go, and then an epilogue after that. Thanks to everyone who is still liking it!


	10. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha finally returns home but his welcome is less than welcoming as Jensen learns about some of the things that he was up to on the other side. Misha knew to expect some backlash after all, but this was a little more than he was prepared for. Will Dean and Cas help convince Jensen that it all makes sense? Or will Dean lose his shit and punch Jensen in the face? Jensen sure as hell is thinking about doing the same to Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a billion times over to Tennyo -- Especially for the title of this chapter. We were shooting ideas around and she thought of the Alice in Wonderland quote and it's just perfect. 
> 
> So as expected, I could not finish off this story with one chapter... when do I ever keep things short? BUUUUT next chapter is imminent, like later today ready to post as soon as I choose a title :).

The coat felt heavy in his hands, like there was something weighing it down. Most likely dirt; it hadn’t been washed in forever. He thought about what he wanted to say. Now that it felt like it meant something, he was hesitant, caught for the right words. Jensen had no idea why he felt so sure all of a sudden that Cas was real. That Misha was with him. It was the oddest sensation. Almost as though it were a memory; seeing Misha with the angel like a vision.

Well. _Now_ he felt crazy. Having visions? Maybe Vicki should be calling some institution.

But that damn gut feeling wouldn’t go away, kept urging him on.

He rolled his neck on his shoulders, rubbed a hand over the coat folded in his lap and bent his head forward.

_Castiel. I’m not sure how to begin, how to go about this. I didn’t think…_

He paused for a moment to inhale and begin again.

_I believe that Misha is there… with you. I do. I don’t know how I know. I just… I know you’re there somewhere. I just really hope that you can hear me. Please hear me. I don’t know what to do without him, he’s become a part of me. I hope he’s sa—_

The remnants of his prayer died on his lips as a sound beat through the air— _Fucking unmistakable_. He’d never heard it directly on set of course, only ever in watching on screen—the flutter dubbed over later during editing.

This was no edit. This was real. His eyes were squeezed tight, not sure he was ready for what he might see if he opened them.

“Hey you.” Misha’s words broke into his frozen state and he whipped his head up in shock, his eyes flashing open. Before him, standing in Misha’s apartment was Misha himself, Castiel on the right, and Dean at the end. _Dean_. It was like looking in the trippiest fucking mirror.

For a second, he couldn’t move. He told his legs to straighten and send him to Misha, but he was fixed, bewildered, gaping at the scene before him. Believing was one thing, seeing was a whole ‘nother animal.

But then he was moving, and accelerated until he slammed into Misha, throwing his arms around his shoulders and hugging him tight, letting out a needed sigh of relief.

“Thank God!” He breathed, sucking in Misha’s scent. Even though it didn’t quite smell like the Misha he was used to. Jesus, he could only imagine what Misha had—

“Are you okay?” He asked with the train of his thoughts, pulling back to look Mish in the eye, running his hands over his chest and sides, down his arms—checking for damage.

Misha glanced down timidly. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

Blissfully reassured, Jensen turned to the right. This was… _uhh_ … interesting.

“So… Castiel? And Dean, I take it?” He felt his eyebrows draw together.

“Hello.” Castiel said, as Dean brusquely smirked with, “What’s up good lookin’?”

Jensen scowled at his twin. Probably should have expected as much. The shock wore off fast and he was left with a big mother of a question. He opened his mouth to ask for details, when Cas interrupted, stretching on his toes to look over his left shoulder.

“Is that my coat?” He asked, sidestepping Jensen.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Dean smiled, delighted to see the old garment.

“Uh, yeah. I found it under the couch.” Jensen replied, sharing a blushing grin with Misha. Unfortunately the private joke didn’t seem to brighten Misha the way it should have.

“Why would it be underneath furniture?” Castiel asked.

Jensen turned back to the angel, who was clutching the coat fondly, much the way Jensen had been earlier. Shaking his head, he softened the visage of impatience that he knew he was sporting and looked at Cas until the blue eyes met his.

“It’s yours if you want it, unless Mish wants to keep it. But can we just forget the coat for now. What the fuck happened?!” He threw his arms out and switched his focus from Castiel to Misha and Dean.

Misha was the one to speak up, “The spell we were doing on set? Well, I cut myself and it sent me to their universe… and… well, there were complications. Took us a while to get me back.” Misha frowned heavily, an unhappy memory passing over his normally light-hearted blue eyes.

“Yeah, like I said, what the fuck happened?” He reiterated. As far as details went, that overview sucked.

When Misha said nothing more and wouldn’t even look him in the eye, Jensen didn’t know _what_ to think. Then he saw Dean and Cas listing towards each other, whispering something he couldn’t catch. They were acting strange (not that he had much basis for comparison, but then again, he did play Dean). What really had the wheels turning in his head was more the way Cas was inching towards Misha, his hand twitching close…

What in the hell…

This time, Jensen shifted his gaze to Castiel. “Someone wanna answer me here?” He grated out, his voice getting rough with growing anger.

Castiel licked his lips and reset his stance. “As you may know, my stolen grace was diminishing.” Jensen nodded, thinking that had been last season. “Before we could get him back here, we needed to get my grace back so that I could bring him. So I found a spell—“

“—Yeah maybe next time write down some notes, huh?” Dean slipped in with a sideways glance at the angel, who rolled his eyes at the interruption.

“As I said, I found a spell; it went a different direction than expected.”

“No shit.”

Cas angled his head to the side and glared outright this time. “My stolen grace rendered me incapacitated before we could do the spell. So, Sam was left to do the spell without any direction from me. He chose the wrong incantation and it sent both Misha and I to Heaven.” Castiel nodded in Misha’s direction, “He was the one to save both of us.”

Jensen looked between the three of them. What exactly were they trying to say? He definitely noticed, however, that Misha wouldn’t look at any of them, standing tall but silent with his hands in his pockets.

“Misha killed Metatron to save me. And himself.” Castiel spoke clearly, shoulder brushing against his twin.

_Misha did what?_ There were absolutely no words. When it was clear Jensen was incapable of responding, Castiel continued. “Probably saved a lot of people actually.” The angel turned to Misha, a fondness softening his stiff features.

“Jesus…” Jensen finally managed to flutter out between sharp breaths.

He took the two steps needed to reach Misha and grabbed the other man’s shoulders, sliding up to his neck to push from under his chin. When Misha’s eyes finally met his, Jensen saw how guarded they were. He’d never known Misha to hold anything back from him, not a secret nor a weird-ass confession. He was always, without fail, open. Seeing him this way was something Jensen didn’t know how to handle.

“You killed Metatron?” He repeated, like there was anything else he could possibly say. It was all too surreal, too unbelievable.

Misha pinched his lips and looked away, like he couldn’t bear to think about it, let alone talk about it. As crazy as this man was, Jensen knew something like this would haunt him forever.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Your boyfriend kills an angel and apparently, it’s okay. Fuck, this has been a weird fucking week.

A movement had Jensen’s stare snapping down to the right. What the…? Castiel had reached out to grab Mish’s hand. Stepping back, Jensen looked them all over once more. Misha quickly pulled his hand away from the angel, and immediately went from shut-down and shamed, to animated and defensive as he approached, one arm stretched out apologetically.

“I, uhh… I’m not sure what to say.” Misha’s words were gravelly rough.

Standing there, Jensen blanked. What the hell was Misha not sure what to say about? Why did he look so sorry?

A loud, impatient sigh interrupted his confusion. “Wow, this is taking a long ass time.” Dean droned in bored voice, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“ _What_ is taking a long ass time!?” He shouted at his twin, suddenly and totally irate. Almost like his subconscious knew to be angry before he consciously knew why.

“Let’s sum it up,” Dean faced him, “you guys fucked up some spell and sent Misha to us, where we had a very interesting and fun week, beginning with him irritating the holy hell out of me! Then, he ganked Metatron, ‘cause he’s awesome that way, then we, ya know, passed the time until you decided to pray again since that was our only friggin’ way of getting him back here. Well here you go! Safe and sound. You’re welcome, by the way.” Dean snapped, huffed, and then muttered: “Least we know I’m the smarter of the two.”

Of all that, the only things registering to Jensen were… _interesting, fun_ and _passed the time..._

He looked once at Dean, glaring, and then turned that same accusing stare at Misha, unable to stop himself, “Any other _details_ I should know about?”

His question pulled Misha away from giving Dean a contemptuous glower. And didn’t that look ever lock it all into place, he thought shaking his head. Rage fueled through him, replacing his former worry with a staggering swiftness.

“Tell me everything. _Now_.” He took another step, bringing him inches from Misha’s face. Jensen tried to be happy that Misha was alive, tried to focus all his thoughts on it, but he couldn’t. He wanted to throw the coffeepot at Dean’s face and cut Misha off the way Misha had done to him once. Except permanently.

“It’s not easy to explain…” Misha whispered and the muddled acknowledgement made his blood boil.

“Got to be fucking kidding me! You can be such a fucking wh—“

A palm slammed hard over his mouth, crushing his lips on his teeth. Castiel, unexpectedly right in front of him, pinned him with an icy glare—the kind of look that made your nuts draw up tight.

“I would reconsider my next words if I were you.” The angel growled into his face, palm painfully tight over his cheek and jaw.

Jensen swallowed thick. He could feel the power standing in front of him sure as if it were a livewire jumping around the room.

“Before I move my hand, let me say this: Whatever you think you know, you don’t. You know nothing of what has happened nor why, so perhaps listen or I’ll let Dean do exactly what he’s thinking about this very second.”

Jensen flicked his eyes over to Dean who grinned threateningly. _Bet he’s just ready to deck me a good one._

“He is.” Castiel answered his thoughts. He made a face beneath Cas’ hand and his whole body felt funny. The oddest sensation passed over him, like a second-long fever. Looking back to Dean, he noted his twin’s apparent enjoyment at watching Castiel show off his strength.

My God, what had happened? Nothing was making any damn sense. Misha had disappeared, killed Metatron, and… Fuck, Jensen didn’t even want to know what else.

But he knew. Christ, he knew.

The look Dean was throwing Misha, who was now sitting on the couch running a hand over his face, told Jensen everything. Dean was in love with him. And by the looks of it so was Cas. Shit, he knew Misha was captivating and had a way of squeezing into your life but this was… _Damn_. Who’d have thought his relationship with Misha could ever get _more_ complicated. Turns out it not only went beyond complicated, but boarded a train, hopped a plane and ended up somewhere in the lands of ludicrous and utterly convoluted. A dull throb on the side of his head signified an oncoming headache. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the scene in an attempt to stave off the absurdity of it all.

Cas gradually removed his palm, sliding it down over Jensen’s mouth, but the angel didn’t budge an inch, his familiar body still standing awkwardly close.

Gaining movement of his face back, he stretched his mouth wide and his jaw cracked. He sucked back a breath, passing a sweaty hand over his face. Dean chuckled.

“What?” Jensen looked over with a tired roll of his head.

“Nothin’. Just, uhh, you really are me, aren’t you?” Dean remarked with an affirming snort.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Jensen’s brows cinched together, giving his twin a confused expression.

“He’s you…” Misha answered in low voice, barely audible from behind him. Rounding to face the couch, Jensen looked over the sunken form. Shoulders hunched over, head hanging low, hands linked between his knees. The picture of shame… Jensen thought, feeling his anger redouble.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jensen shot back, staring down at him.

The sounds of Cas and Dean moving, conversing quietly behind him did nothing to distract him from the idea that Misha had vanished a few days ago. And apparently, without a thought for how much Jensen would worry, he’d gone and fucked around. It didn’t fucking matter that Dean looked like him. He didn’t even wanna know how Cas figured in to all this.

Misha lifted his chin and stared at the wall behind Jensen’s head. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, chewing it, unshed tears glazing his eyes. When Jensen was near ready to lash out, Misha focused on him and formed his words with care, “I fell in love with him.”

Jensen felt as though the floor had been ripped out from under him. Misha had fallen in love with Dean? Not as in, ‘Hey you look like my bf, let’s fool around,’ but actually fell in love? Despite himself and Dean sharing a face, the thought of Misha and Dean having sex made him want to break shit. If he were strong enough to throw the fucking couch through the window, he would. Sadly the couch was a truly solid piece of furniture; lots of thick wood and leather. It was a pain in the ass to simply move around, let alone throw out a damn window.

Right, he needed to get back on track here. “You fell in love with him?!” He stammered angrily, jabbing his finger behind himself to point at the man in question that Jensen absolutely _had_ to ignore, otherwise he’d go fucking nuts and pummel the guy. To be fair, he’d probably get his own ass handed to him, but then again, there’s something to be said for rage—an emotion that was basically his primary setting at the moment.  

Misha winced at the anger in his voice, but that didn’t stop Jensen from letting harsh words slip out. “You were only there for a fucking week, Mish!” The room was silent except for the pounding of his heart, probably audible to the angel. Of all the wild happenings of the day, the fact that there was a freaking angel in the room, and it was way down on his ‘Holy Shit’ meter, really gave a man perspective.

“It was… effortless.” Misha said in ragged, broken voice, his own emotions tightening the space of his throat. Jensen seethed.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better!?” He shouted in a violent burst, voice hitching higher and more hysterical, “—That is was _easy_ for you to fucking cheat on me?!”

Misha ran a hand over his face; it came away wet from wiping at his eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” He admitted in defeat. “It was like falling in love with you… the things he… it was… I can’t explain it. He’s you. Your soul. It’s you.” Misha lowered his head into his hands, overcome with misery. The man looked defeated, but Jensen felt far from triumphant.

Jensen was at a loss. He could scream and yell some more, but what was the point? He’d known Misha was a flirt and he dealt with it – tried not to let it bother him. But, this? He didn’t care that Dean looked like him! They still weren’t the same person; it wasn’t an excuse. What pissed him off more was how much he might be willing to get past it. He shouldn’t, it was self-deprecating and stupid. Except the thought of not being with Misha left the kind of pain in his heart that made him think he would die young.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on and Jensen grew more and more bitter, increasingly powerless, and eventually fell back into berating some more.

“Did you even try not to?” He demanded, wondering what the hell was wrong with Misha that he would just let this happen. Everyone experienced desire once in a while but most people didn’t act on it. Most people had a thing called fucking self-control!

“Hey, hey—“ Dean cut in, advancing a step in Jensen’s direction.

He spun around and pointed at Dean, “I’m not fucking talking to you!” _Take a fucking number, buddy._

“Yeah, well I’m talking to you asshole. I think you’re done talking to Mish, alright?” Explicitly _not_ a question. Dean stepped closer and Jensen met him straight on, glaring into his own damn eyes. _Fucking bizarre._

“Oh really? You got something to say then?” Jensen clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. Dean smiled, ready to take him on. _Bring it, you arrogant dick._

“Dean.” Cas reproached with a single syllable, causing Dean to grimace, jaw-clenching and all. He straightened up and held himself still. Jensen smirked, _How cute_ — _Angel calling you to heel._

“Enough. Look,” Dean said through gritted teeth, “Mish wasn’t being flowery before. He meant what he said. About us being the same. Dude, honest-to-god, we have the same fuckin’ soul. Like _literally_. So, don’t be pissed at him for falling for me. It’s your own damn fault anyway since he fell for you first.”

“What?” Jensen coughed. _And the crazy just keeps on coming…_

“He’s correct. Your souls are identical.” Castiel interjected.

Dean rolled his eyes at Jensen’s shock. “News to me too, but get over it. You and me are essentially the same—you know, except that I’m better and everything. And Cas and Misha also have some weird twin soul/essence thingamajig goin’ on.” Abruptly Dean laughed heartily, “Dude, you should see it when—“

The rest of Dean’s sentence was cut off by Castiel slapping a hand over his mouth from behind, hauling him back towards the bedrooms muttering, “Two of you never know when to shut up…”

The door slammed down the hall with a loud, “Hey!” from Dean and then muted arguing between him and the angel. Left by themselves, the atmosphere between Jensen and Mish felt sodden with pain and disappointment. In light of recent news, Jensen tried to rationalize things in his head. But it wasn’t easy to remedy the notion that Misha had slept with someone else, almost certainly _two_ someone elses.  

Nevertheless, Jensen pushed down his temper as hard as he could and took a deep breath before speaking, hoping he wouldn’t yell or say something he’d regret. What the hell did Dean mean anyway? They had the same soul? Did they share a soul? Misha was watching the questions stream through his thoughts, waiting for him to choose one to voice aloud.

“Ok. Like I’m five or something, explain this to me.” He sat down on the coffee table to put them at eye level, their knees close but not touching.

Misha took a long, excessively drawn out breath. “The spell that Cas found? The one we likely used?” Jensen nodded for him to continue. “Well, it pulls together pieces of a whole—of an angel specifically. Cas… uhm, Cas had to check to make sure.” Mish swallowed, lifting his hand nervously in the air. “He, he did the… the soul-checking thing on me. _Really_ painful by the way. Turns out I’m him, or more, he’s me. At least that’s what he thinks.” Misha summarized.

“I’m sorry, you lost me. You’re him, he’s you? I’m not getting it.”

Misha sighed tiredly. “My soul is the same as his—when he’s human. When’s he an angel? His essence is, I guess, something like the same. Cas has a theory that when we created this show, we created them… from us.”

“Really?” He droned, disbelieving.

“I know how it sounds, but Jen, I’ve been close to him, and he’s been in my head.”

“And Dean?” Jensen fixed his green eyes on Misha’s shifting gaze. _Where has Dean been exactly?_

A tear trickled down Mish’s already tear-stained cheeks and Jensen gritted his teeth to try and ignore the reaction it gave him, wanting more than anything to wipe it away.

“Dean,” Misha inhaled shakily, “Dean _is_ you. I don’t know how to make you understand. Underneath all his drinking and surly attitude—it’s you. Please believe me.” Misha shifted on the couch, reaching out for Jensen but stopping short, his hand hovering in the air before dropping back down to his thighs.

“Geez, Mish. You want me to just be suddenly okay with knowing you slept with him? Cas too, I’m guessing. All because you _believe_ that we’re all cut from the same cloth or whatever? You had to have known it’s not that simple.” Dropping his head into his hands did nothing to dispel the image of Misha absolutely distraught, tears escaping freely. It was obvious that Misha thought he was ending things. Maybe not this second, but he definitely assumed the damage was irreparable, and that a cutting of ties was an ensuing reality.

“You weren’t there.” Mish pleaded. “You didn’t… you don’t know, Jen. You don’t know what it felt like.”

“I can help with that.” A deeper version of Misha’s voice arose from over by the hallway. Jensen looked to the right curiously.

“Help how?” He asked, and then became quickly distracted when Dean sauntered down the hall, pegging him with a secretive gleam.

“First, Misha and Dean are going to leave for a little while.” Castiel stated, continuing to stare at him.

“Take off where? Hey,” Jensen flipped back to Misha, “we have cops out looking for you. Jared and I saw you vanish and we told that to Vicki and Danneel and Gen, but we had to involve the cops. Vicki and Danneel are on their way over now.”

“Listen, don’t you worry your pretty face about Mish, I’ll make sure he finds his wife. And you, you stay here with Cas for a bit. Trust me, you’ll enjoy yourself.” Dean winked. _Jesus Christ…_

Jensen wanted to protest. He did not want to be alone with the angel for one, and two because he wasn’t ready to watch Misha walk out the door. He’d been missing for a whole week and despite being pissed, Jensen wasn’t okay with seeing Dean lead Misha away from him. Especially because it was Dean.

“I’ll give you space.” Mish said weakly, getting up to follow Dean. Jensen snatched his hand as he passed between the couch and coffee table. Jensen’s breath came faster with the minor contact, his body demanding more of a confirmation that Misha was alive than the simple hand-to-hand contact. It wanted… everything.

“Hey… wait.” He looked up warily, “This isn’t… uhh… Don’t…” He closed his eyes. “We’re not done okay. You hear me? We’re not done.” He hoped Mish knew what he meant. ‘Cause he wasn’t talking about the fight. Glassy blue eyes blinked and the other man nodded, resuming an anxious worrying of his lip, despite Jensen’s attempt to lessen his fears.

“C’mon.” Dean gestured by the door and Misha crossed the open living room to join him after reassuring that he would be back immediately after getting Vicki. When the door clicked shut, Jensen looked over to Cas and stood up. This was not a confrontation he could handle in a lesser position.

“So, what? You gonna do some angel magic and play around in my head, make me understand?” Castiel didn’t answer. He simply stood there, quiet and observing.

“What are you staring at?” Jensen grated out as Cas kept on staring.

“You.” Cas responded in a low, intimate voice.

He snorted. “Want a picture? Fuck, I’ll even sign it for you.” Cas strode over to him and captured his face. It threw him. Wholly unexpected was the action that Jensen completely froze and let Castiel intensify his gaze not three inches from Jensen’s face.

“Look at me.” Castiel requested gently.

“I am.”

“No, _really_ look at me.”

So he looked. Annnnnnnnd looked.

Jensen didn’t see the point of it. He already knew every line, every curve, every shade of blue in those eyes and how different lights and clothing could make them darker or brighter. He knew where the crinkles went when he smiled and when he frowned. He knew how soft those lips were, or could be, when it wasn’t cold outside and Misha would annoyingly lick them and only make it worse. He knew the different pitches of that voice; in Cas mode, in excited Misha mode, when he was aroused… Jensen had seen that disarray of dark brown hair in different styles: flattened out, puffed up, all havoc from sleep or other bed-related activities. The way it stuck to his forehead after a run. Jensen’s hand twitched with a sudden need to touch. He shifted away but the couch hit the backs of his legs and he had nowhere to go.

A hand grabbed his and he fought the urge to rip it away. “Please, don’t turn away from me.”

Jensen scoffed, “This your plan?”

“Well… Yes, actually.” Cas admitted plainly, shrugging his shoulders. In a softer gesture, Castiel raised a hand and drew his chin back around.

“The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all. Is it working?” The angel asked, blue eyes piercing into him. Jensen found it suddenly difficult to breathe. The way Cas was looking at him, the weird jolt in his heart, all of it made his concept of reality take a turn for the twisted and unrecognizable.

“Don’t do this.” Jensen pleaded, scared of his own reaction. “Don’t alter my head to make this okay. This is fucked up. Misha went to another fucking universe! There’s another _universe_! That, in and of itself, is fucking insane. And you… and him and Dean. And shit, you and him? Ugg _gghh!!_ ” He clapped his hands to his ears and fought to hold himself together. It was just too much in one day.

Then, in a way too familiar gesture, Cas tucked into him, arms slipping around his waist, the angel’s head resting on his shoulder, even pressing his hips in so they were hugging full-frontal.

“What are you—,” Jensen held his arms out awkwardly, “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Castiel blew out a long exhale and sunk deeper into him.

When Jensen’s arms got tired, he had no better option than to settle them around Cas’ shoulders, the way he did with Mish normally. Before long, the embrace settled. The awkwardness chased away by familiarity of touch—which made no sense whatsoever.

The angel’s palm pressed up his back, running along Jensen’s spine and then circling his torso more, tightening the embrace.

“Uhh… Cas?” He said after long enough that his voice cracked from disuse.

“Hmm?” The angel seemed totally at ease.

“This is, uh, nice and all, but I’m still confused. This isn’t the kind of thing that magically fixes itself. Misha did something wrong, you get that right?”

Cas pulled back reluctantly and fixed him with a sad, grim expression. “I understand how you see it, but you’re the one who is wrong. You’re limited in your view of the world. You and Dean are…” Castiel looked off to the side, his face lightening up with amused thoughts or memories. “You are the same man. Only with very different upbringings.”

“How can you—“

“May I show you what I see?” Castiel squinted in his direction.

Jensen shrugged and mumbled permission. The second that finger touched his forehead he was bombarded with sensation. Not images precisely, but direct feelings, and thoughts, and memories; a disorienting tumble of them. Firstly, the emotions that had ripped through Castiel when he’d touched Misha’s soul, then the exactness between the view Cas had of Dean’s soul and of his own. The overwhelming feeling of _me_ whenever Cas and Misha had been close. And then Castiel’s own reaction to Jensen; the angel wanting to be close to the soul that he loved but felt cast aside by. The final torrent of feelings staggered him. How immediately and totally Cas felt for him. The angel truly saw them as the same. All that love Cas had for Dean, was apparently directly transferable to him. Jensen didn’t understand, maybe he wasn’t capable. Maybe the concept was simply too foreign.

The living room of the apartment came rushing back and he was breathing hard, hanging onto Cas like maybe he’d lost the ability to stand at some point.

“I’m sorry. It can be… overwhelming, sharing my memories with a human that way. I wouldn’t normally, but it seemed prudent.”

Jensen was still wheezing, a suspicious wetness in his eyes when he blinked. The emotions that had flooded his system were too forceful, too intense, and they’d yet to sink down to a tolerable level.

“I need to sit.” Castiel eased him down onto the couch and then sat down as well.

“Do you believe me now?” The angel asked, his expression painfully hopeful.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. I can’t wrap my head around it all. You’re… We’re…. Dean and I are the same? But how? I mean… you really think this show created your universe or something?” That’s crazy…

“It is a possibility.” Castiel answered succinctly.

“Riiiiiight… Which means what? That in some universe somewhere else, I’m in some over-dramatized world with hazy scenery and poorly written dialogue?”

“No.” Cas frowned, bewildered. “It means you created Dean.” Castiel clarified in a slow, measured tone.

“Never mind.” He shook his head. No need to tell the angel about the other shows he’d been on. Soap Opera Universes? _Good God…_

/\/\/\

“Perk up. Cas will bring him around.” Dean elbowed Mish in the side, getting only a dire look in response.

“Seriously, he’ll understand.” Dean bolstered.

“And if he doesn’t?” Mish turned to Dean as they waited at the airport. Two young girls had already asked for pictures and autographs and Misha had to pinch Dean’s arm, who’d been about to sign Dean Winchester. Poor girls; Dean had severely butchered Jensen’s signature. By the looks of it, they’d noticed as well, but were too nervous to point it out. They ran off squealing together anyway.

“If he doesn’t, I’ll beat him up.” Dean promised, smiling at him. Misha couldn’t muster an ounce of amusement for Dean’s threat. He was too lost in his own misery.

Misha hadn’t felt this awful about the state of his love life since he and Jensen had broken up way back in the beginning.

Thinking back on the last time things had gone awry between them, he almost wished for that level of simplicity. After getting past their need for each other, reality had set in for Jensen and he’d freaked. Told Misha is was wrong, that it couldn’t happen ever again. Jensen had backed off completely and Misha was crushed at first ‘cause he’d already fallen in love with him. Not that he’d said it in so many words, but the knowledge was there and they both had known it.

After several months, Jensen seemed to reconsider, discovering in his own time that what they had wasn’t some trifle attraction to be sated by the occasional fucking. But a deeper connection that was not easily shoved aside. That was when the public slips had begun occurring. Misha had been irate at the time, having to smile at certain comments, allow teasing hands, accept too-long hugs when all he’d wanted to say was: ‘Fuck off, you don’t get to do this after months of being a total fucking asshole.’ Jensen displayed his persistence with unstoppable fortitude, wearing him down slowly.

By the time they’d started filming again and had to be in regular contact with one another, Misha had given in. He let Jensen into his room one night, a silent acceptance, in the form of a drunken, passionate destruction of each other. The change had been immediate, like the time apart had firmed up Jensen’s commitment. And for the most part, things had been smooth sailing. Of course they fought. Jensen could be so fucking right-winged sometimes, and Misha was, and always would be, a flirt. Over time, they’d found ways to accept the other’s glaring differences, ultimately shaping themselves into a more appropriate fit for the other.

Truthfully, Misha had expected a negative reaction about his time with Dean and Castiel. But he’d never expected Jensen to come near ending it. And he had. Misha had seen it in his eyes. He hoped Castiel could make Jensen understand, get him to accept the shifted reality that Misha had felt within hours of being around Dean—and not even knowing at the time that the two men had identical souls.

He pulled out of his own thoughts and glanced to the side. Dean was already looking at him—maybe he had been the whole time.

Misha rolled his head back and listened as the flight announcement that sounded through the scratchy speakers, barely audible over the noise. The women would be here soon. Thank God, he really needed Vicki right now.

“So what are you going to say to Jensen’s wife?” Misha asked to take his mind off of his own disaster.

“Oh, absolutely nothing. I’m totally gonna pretend to be him and see if she notices.” Dean said excitedly, looking mischievous.

“Don’t.” Misha requested. “Dean, I’m sure she’s worried. Let’s tell them the truth, okay? When we get out to the car though.” Misha said as he weaved through the crowds to get closer to the arrivals section.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grumbled, tagging along behind him. Moving between two large crowds, Dean tried to grab for his hand and Misha discreetly reminded him that in this universe they were mildly well-known, and married—specifically _not_ to each other and couldn’t go around holding hands in a frigging airport.

“Well. That’s dumb.” Dean had said. “If I was dating you here, I’d hold your hand and make out with you wherever, and whenever the damn hell I wanted to.”

Overall, Dean seemed to be enjoying the trip to this other universe way more than Misha was enjoying his return home. Dean was certain that Jensen would come around—that Cas would find a way, but Misha wasn’t so confident. Falling for Dean had never felt wrong. Of that, he was positive. Being with both of them had felt true in a way he couldn’t deny. He would defend it, plead his case, but that didn’t mean Jensen could get over it.

When fifteen minutes trickled by and Dean hadn’t said a word, Misha turned to him to see what was up. Dean had his arms folded over his chest, his head bent down.

“What’s on your mind?” Misha asked.

“Do you regret it? Being with me? With us?” The sadness in his voice, so uncharacteristic and heartbreaking, that Misha glanced around quickly to make sure no one was paying them specific attention before leaning in towards Dean to kiss him quickly on the cheek and then tilting up to whisper, “Not at all. I love you… I mean that. I know deep down that you and Jensen are the same man.”

They didn’t have a chance to say anything more as Vicki came flying into his arms, causing the first smile to show up since he’d come home.

“What happened!?” She fussed over him and he kissed her and hugged her again, his body sagging immediately after an hour of strung-out tension. Danneel had slipped into Dean’s arms without hesitation. Though Misha had actually expected Dean to pull some crap, the man ended up looking totally lost. Even before Jensen’s wife fully backed out of the embrace, Dean was rambling about how he wasn’t her husband. “I’m actually Dean,” he’d said hastily.

Shortly after that, with some subsequent WTFs, Misha ushered them all outside into the privacy of the car. It was a long, awkward car ride back. Dean rattled nervously about everything that had happened with the anticipated Oooh’s and Holy Shits at appropriate milestones in the story. When he got to the end and the whole situation with Jensen and Misha, his voice sputtered out into nothing and then stopped. Both women knew about him and Jensen… obviously. But they were equally stumped for words as he and Dean now were.

Misha looked once at Vicki in the passenger seat, reading her take on the whole thing and whether she felt the same rage as Jensen. But as he’d expected, she reached over and took his hand in hers, pulling it over into her lap.

“He’ll come around,” was all she said. He was never more thankful that she shared his very plain view on love and sex and devotion. That he never would have cheated on either her or Jensen. This was something so entirely different, with its own set of rules, and she got that. He only wished Jensen would feel the same way.

“See! Even your wife agrees with me!” Dean said, voice raised from the backseat, leaning into the front.

“This is sooo weird.” Danneel said distantly, glimpsing to her left at Dean, and then fixating on him with a tilt of her head. She looked both intrigued and mystified.

“No shit.” Dean responded, watching her right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting an epilogue at some point but not sure when (which will have some Sam in there I promise). I am so happy to have received all the comments for this story. I have truly loved writing it. And I totally ship Dean and Misha so damn hard. With a side of Misha/Cas. ;)


	11. "I can't feel my ass cheeks."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling dejected, Misha returns to his apartment. Despite the scene that greets him, he still feels the need to clear the air. Cas and Dean's time with him is rapidly coming to an end and a part feels the imminent heartbreak. But when they are gone, and it's finally just him and Jensen, he realizes how good it feels to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is officially the last chapter. There will be an epilogue but it won't be written immediately.

Back at the apartment, Jensen scratched his short fingernails over his scalp. He and Cas had lapsed into silence but continued peeking at one another. They finally caved into blatant staring. It wasn’t quite as weird as he would have expected—sitting there, gazing into the blue eyes of an angel. Christ, it sounded like the beginnings of a Country song.

The more he looked, the more he couldn’t look away. They read each other, surveyed movements, took note of everything.

“If this is inappropriate please say so, but, umm, may I kiss you?” Cas’ voice startled the silence, his features shut down as he nervously looked away. Damn, Jensen thought, friggin’ angel was being coy. It was kind of adorable, actually. _Crap_ , he really hoped his thoughts weren’t open to angelic hearing.

Jensen didn’t quite know how to answer the request. Things were so bizarre that he almost didn’t care, like he was numbing to the crazy. About damn time, he thought. He figured he needed to roll with the WTFs being thrown his way. Somehow, he ended up nodding his head.

It was only when the couch creaked that he’d realized he’d just said yes to Cas actually kissing him. _Whoa_ … He leaned back.

“I’m sorry…” Cas bit his lip, looking crushed. _Great, now I feel like an ass._

“You really see his soul, don’t you?” Cas nodded with a shallow dip of his chin.

“I’m not him. I’m not the person you’re in love with.” Jensen reminded gently, not even sure he believed it himself after seeing things through the filter of Cas’ perception.

“Yes you are.” Cas answered with infallible certainty. “I fell in love with his soul. When I see you… I see him. The most basic part of you both, the underpinnings of your entire personality and all your choices are exactly alike. And I’m drawn to it, as I’ve always been.”

When Jensen offered no response, Castiel drew into himself. “Do you feel nothing when you look at me?” _Goddamn_. Those deep, scratchy words were wracked with hurt, making Jensen wanted to wrap Cas up in his arms and cart him into the bedroom immediately, and he despised the reaction. Hell, he’d verbally attacked Misha not two hours ago for doing the same thing that Jensen was tempted to do now. He didn’t expect to feel like a damn hypocrite this fast. Or at all.

“Not nothing.” He allowed, reaching out to grab a hand and look it over for something to do and to offer a means of comfort. Holding the angel’s hand, he checked it for similarities—it was exactly the same as far as he could tell.

After a suspended moment, he looked up. If anything, his next action would at least even the score a little.

Okay. _Kiss me_.

Castiel beamed and dove forward, landing hard against his mouth with enthusiasm and enough strength that he fell backwards with Cas following closely and landing on his chest. The thump onto the cushions pushed a breath out, his mouth falling open of its own accord. A tongue slipped in between Jensen’s parted lips and sigh of relief rumbled out of Cas’ chest. Castiel kissed him sweet and slow, despite the mini-attack. And in that kiss, he sensed Mish. He hated to be wrong, but the subtle flick of Cas’ tongue, his head angling to the left, the way he clutched Jensen’s chest and then groped along his arm to reach his hand, lacing their fingers tightly together. It was all familiar. And he’d missed it, God, he’d missed it.

His arms went around Castiel all by themselves, his legs going lax to give Cas room to settle comfortably. He kissed and kissed, and ate up every moan and whimper that came out of the angel’s mouth. He couldn’t help but be surprised and excited by how alike they really were. The earlier seasons’ stoicism that marked Cas’ personality was not in this version at all. Perhaps the real Castiel had always been more like Misha? Regardless, this Castiel was charismatic, and passionate, but most of all, he had a vulnerable openness about his feelings, and that trait was so uniquely _Misha_.

After a heated moment of nothing but breath and wet warmth, Cas lifted to speak. “Do you get it now?” Castiel asked in a whisper, peering down at him.

He nodded briskly, wishing Cas would go back to kissing him. The door opening had them both turning to the side. Jensen scrambled to push Castiel off but the angel simply refused to move. Jensen struggled but didn’t get anywhere, but then, Cas was an angel after all. So they were still in a very compromising position when Misha and Dean fixed their eyes on the sight. He figured Cas had wanted it that way.

Misha stared outright. Dean laughed and said, “I told you so,” nudging Mish in the side.

“Uhh… I… Yeah, okay, maybe you were right.” He admitted, feeling all shades of embarrassment that Misha and Dean were simply standing there while Cas laid on him—not a care in the world.

“Where are the girls?” He asked to change the subject, silently trying to nudge Cas off.

“Dropped them off at your place. Their idea. Said that we should have some time alone.” Mish explained with a shrug, walking over to them on the couch. Dean watched excitedly and Jensen could only imagine what he was thinking. _Not gonna happen dude._

“Cas?” Mish reached out and tenderly cupped Castiel’s cheek, the angel closed his eyes with a soft smile. It was an unparalleled sight and it did things to Jensen.

“Can you guys leave us, please? Only for a bit.” Mish asked carefully, looking to Dean, and then Cas.

“Of course.” Castiel answered. And just like that he and Dean were gone, and Jensen and Misha were alone. The change was so abrupt that Jensen needed a minute to reorganize his thoughts and acclimatise to the cold draft that had settled against him.

“I know you’re pissed, and I’m really sorry, but I don’t regret it.” Misha said, reaching over to nudge Jensen’s head as an indication to make room.

Jensen shifted up into a sitting position and laughed because he felt there was no other possible reaction to any of this. He understood now. He’d felt it… like touching that coat and being so certain that Cas was real.

And that’s when it dawned on him, that maybe it _had_ been some strange vision. Maybe he’d been seeing a snippet through Dean’s eyes.

Wait a minute…

 _Fuckin’ Hell!_ His eyes went wide with a double-whammy of understanding. That super-weird, super-abrupt orgasm from before might be more proof than he needed to confirm that he and Dean were on similar wavelengths or whatever.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Misha had a hand on his thigh, trying to rouse his attention away from where it had drifted. No doubt there was a look of shock displayed on his face.

“Yeah, I’m here. Uhh… Weird question, but, earlier today, did you guys fool around?” Jensen asked, curving his upper lip and pulling his brows together.

Misha’s eyes flicked to the side, embarrassed. “Yes.”

“I figured. I know what your sex hair looks like.” He smiled, feeling relief for the first time. “Was it… uhm… intense?” He tried not to picture the image of Misha with Dean. Or for the love of God: _all of them together_.But, a little flutter in his belly told him that maybe a small part of him did, in fact, want to picture exactly that. In precise detail… on replay… with the sound turned up loud. He swallowed noisily.

No verbal response came from the man at his right, only a raised brow in his direction. That was a yes then.

“Wow…” Jensen puffed out a breath. “ _Yeah_ , I believe you.” He announced with astonishment.

The humour of it all flipped on a dime as another hit of understanding struck him upside the head. _Oh shit_! What the effin’ hell did that mean for the finale of nine? What would happen to him? Would he die?

“Call Cas back right now!” He clamoured, shooting up from the couch.

_Whoosh, whoosh, flutter._

“You rang.” Dean spoke in a flat tone.

“What’s worrying you?” Misha asked, looking up at him with confusion written in the crease on his forehead.

“Cas, this whole sharing a soul business, or same soul, whatever—what, uh, side effects might that have?”

Castiel squinted, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I’m not aware of any.” He answered apprehensively.

“Well, I’m pretty sure there are!” He huffed, smiling humourlessly and shaking his head.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked. Dean and Misha’s eyes were so tuned on him that he could feel their laser focus like a touch.

He coughed and sat down. “Wellllll…” He hesitated, regrouped, and continued. “Earlier… You know… When you guys were, _uhrm_ , passing the time? I had an…,” he coughed and cleared his throat, “incident.” He finished brusquely, turning away.

Despite his halting, awkward confession, Mish and Cas seemed to be at a loss for what he was getting at. Dean, however, burst into an eruption of cackles.

“Sorry dude.” Dean apologized between oxygen-starved chuckles. Jensen nodded, _Yeah… thanks for the transient, forced orgasm. Thank Fuck I wasn’t anywhere public._

“Oh!” Castiel stammered, clueing in. The angel crossed his arms, one hand coming up to hold under his chin like a professor in contemplation. “Interesting.”

The hand on Jensen’s knee tightened considerably and he shifted to look at Mish, whose face had gone white. “When I was sick...”

“The beginning of Season Seven?” Jensen asked.

“Yeah.” Mish replied distantly, shocked. And then suddenly reanimated, turning his focus to the angel. “My God, _never,_ _ever_ do that again!”

“Do what?” Castiel looked utterly perplexed.

“Eat goddamn purgatory souls! I’m telling you, it does _not_ go down well on this end.” Mish explained. Jensen remembered that night all too well. He’d never seen anyone that sick before. At least not anyone who wasn’t already in a hospital.

Castiel grabbed Dean’s arm and tugged him to where Jensen and Misha were seated on the couch. One hand palmed Jensen’s forehead, the other on Dean’s.

“Cas, what’re you doing?” Dean demanded.

“I want to check both your memories for crossovers. See where things have come through and what effect they’ve had.”

“Hey hey, wait one minute.” Dean stepped away. “Don’t get me wrong Cas, I love you and everything, I do. But you peeking into all my memories is not really what they mean when they saw honesty is the foundation of a good relationship. You do not want to see some of what’s gone on.”

“Dean.” Cas chided.

“Oh, suck it up. I’m sure he’s seen everything anyway.” Jensen pressured. He couldn’t handle not knowing if Dean died, he might die. Or vice versa. Sharing a soul was really, really not cool at all.

“Well of course _you_ don’t care; you’ve never had to torture someone!” Dean argued.

“Cas knows that already.” Jensen countered.

“Seeing and knowing are two very different things.”

“Dean,” Misha spoke up. “We need to know what effect it has. I imagine whatever transpires between Castiel and myself is different because of the whole angel thing, maybe it’s worse or maybe it’s not. But we’re going to need to apply this to Jared too, so it’s better if he checks through you guys.”

Evidently giving in, Dean gruffly moved closer, radiating his dislike for the whole experience. When Cas brought a hand up to his forehead, Dean flinched back and met his eyes hard. “Just sayin’ Cas, you better not look at me any different after this.”

When Castiel touched them both, Jensen felt a strange pinging in his heart, like an echo. _Weeeeiirrrddd…_ It made him a little queasy. _Ugh_. Scratch that, a _lot_ queasy.

Before he knew it, the song and dance was over and Cas was grinning and shaking his head, incredulous and fascinated. A good sign in Jensen’s book. He probably wouldn’t die then. He hoped…

“Well?!” Dean and himself blasted impatiently in the same second.

“It’s inconsistent and I’m not certain why. But I can tell you that the incidents only began happening after Balthazar and I sent you and Sam to this world. Both of your memories from that experience are extremely warped—it’s very strange in fact. Almost as if both sets of worlds were layered on one another, double-exposed simultaneously during that time.” Castiel mused before giving more detail.

“In Dean’s memory, you die,” Castiel said to Misha, “but in your own memory you recall acting out a death scene as yourself. You also remember Jensen and Jared pretending to be Sam and Dean here in your world, whereas Dean, and I imagine Sam as well, believe they were actually here—though where you saw cameras and remembered direction—they don’t. Or at least, Dean does not.”

Jensen thought his head was going to explode, and then Cas kept talking.

“Perhaps Balthazar and myself made a tear between the two worlds for occasional impressions on either soul to pass through, and apparently a distortion of realities ensues when the two worlds are breached by one of you. I’ll have to make sure when I leave that all perceptions are accurate and remain intact. Again, this instance is likely different altogether. The metaphysics and dimensional side-effects are very complex. I _can_ confirm that death does not seem to be transmitted—thankfully. And…” Castiel glanced covertly at Jensen, “The event… the one you’re worried about? I’m not sure how it would’ve played out, but Metatron is dead now, and the Mark is, to some extent controllable.” Jensen felt the sense of relief in Cas’ words, no doubt the thought of Dean becoming a demon had upset him.

“I fear that Misha’s interference this time around has caused a break or a divergence in otherwise very similar timelines and the overlapping of experiences that occurred before. How this will affect the future on both ends is unknown, and it cannot be extrapolated from what has already happened.”

“That’s sounds ominous.” Dean summated. “And what the hell is this ‘event’ that has you both looking skittish and not meeting my damn eyes.”

Jensen and Misha looked at each other. “You didn’t tell him?” Jensen asked.

Mish shook his head. “Especially after… Metatron, I figured that it wouldn’t happen.”

“But what if… I mean another way?” Jensen ventured. If Dean died still, like in a car accident, would he still turn into a demon?

“What the fuck?!” Dean shouted now, towering over them.

“At the very end of season nine, you and Cas kiss, which is great, awesome for the story—and makes things definitely interesting for the season we’re on now, but everything goes to shit after that. There’s a fight, and you and Metatron… well… he kills you.”

“I die? Well, who cares, I’ve died before. Always come back. And if I’m in the season you’re in now, then clearly I’m alive, right?” Dean shrugged, but there was an air of uncertainty passing over him that Jensen recognized innately.

“You turn into a demon.” Castiel was finally the one to say it. No one else seemed to have the guts.

“I—“ Dean tripped up, his tongue catching in his own mouth. “I… I become one of them?” He visibly swallowed, shrinking back from them on instinct.

“Wait here.” Jensen held up his hand and dashed down the hall. He fumbled through Misha’s desk in the spare room, and found what he was looking for. Walking down the hall, he detoured to the TV area and yanked open the drawer of the stand. His arms loaded with all available scripts and DVD’s, he dumped it all into Dean’s outstretched arms.

“That’s everything. It should help. Even if things go a bit different, at least you’ll have something of a road map.” Sitting down on the couch, Jensen reached to pull Mish against him, needing to feel that familiar weight pressing into his side. Maybe he was wrong to give them all the knowledge of what might happen but if it could break their cycle, give them an opportunity to have better lives, he had to try.

Dean looked lost, oblivious to everyone staring at him. Especially Castiel, whose eyes had clouded over with disquiet.

“Do I kill anyone? Anyone I care about I mean?” Dean finally glanced up to ask, holding the awkward heap in his arms tightly.

“No.” Both he and Misha answered immediately. Killing Abaddon didn’t count.

“Good. Good.” He nodded. “So, Angel and Demon storyline, huh?” He asked, trying not to show how much it bothered him. Dean glanced down, gesturing to the one DVD that was coverless with a simple stamp carrying Season Ten basic details.

“Any hot scenes?” Jensen’s twin smirked, finally slipping into his regular stance and confidence, brushing aside the demon topic.

“It’s the CW.” Jensen answered with a snort. “It’s all very PG13. We can’t even say ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’.”

Dean looked flabbergasted. “You’re fucking kidding?”

“Lots of ‘friggin this’ and ‘frickin that’.” Misha smiled.

“Son of a bitch! That must suck ass.” Dean spouted, shaking his head. “Can I have a bag for all this?”

“I’ll grab you one.” Mish left Jensen’s side, much to his disappointment, and headed towards the open kitchen area.

Jensen sensed Dean’s unfaltering stare, and looked up to gander at those familiar green eyes. Shit, that was still freaky.

As Misha rummaged in the kitchen, searching for a bag, the atmosphere between Dean and Jensen turned serious. Dean smiled and spoke low, nodding back to the kitchen, “Cas and I are together because of him.” It was impossible to miss the sideward glance following the statement, Dean holding Castiel’s attention with candid awe.

Cas bit into his lip and then responded by angling up to kiss Dean on the mouth, lingering long enough that it made Jensen uncomfortable. He saw Misha watching with a grin from the kitchen. Jensen’s twin blushed horribly when Cas retreated and it was rather amusing.

Damn, what did the fans call that look? Heart-eyes or some shit? Yeah, well, Dean had that for sure. Now that Jensen was seeing it live like this, he actually understood what the hell everyone was seeing. If that was how he looked at Misha, which it probably was, he wasn’t the least surprised that everyone thought they were secretly together.

“I’m not surprised. Misha is persistent.” Jensen commented when Misha joined them. He grinned wide as Misha opened a bag beside Dean. The other actor rolled his eyes in Jensen’s direction. Dean let the contents fall into the cloth grocery bag with a muted clank.

 

/\/\/\

“So what now?” Jensen asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Misha passed off the bag to Dean and sat on the coffee table, looking to Castiel and Dean the same as Jen was.

“Now we must leave.” Castiel answered gravely, taking Dean’s free hand.

“Wait. Already?” Mish stood quickly, terrified that in a flutter they’d be gone.

Dean glanced once at Jensen, an apologetic smile, before he settled a torn expression in Misha’s direction. “You know we have to go. You’re home now… where you belong.”

The four of them stalled for a few ticks, an uncomfortable tension filling the expansive room.

Dean blew out a puff of air, apologized softly and then, _wham_ , Misha was bombarded with Dean’s scent and his strong frame. The man crushed Misha’s ribs in a tight embrace, those perfect lips pushing at Misha’s mouth, begging to be let in… for potentially the last time. Instantly, Misha forgot that they had an audience and kissed him right back.

The kiss made Misha’s chest ache and despite how much of the same man they were, Misha would miss Dean. Really, really miss him. He held on as long as Dean let him, and too soon he felt the older Winchester pulling away with a guarded expression, his lips in a tight line.

Jensen coughed awkwardly, causing Misha to jerk to the side, remembering that his actual boyfriend had just watched him make out with Dean… To his absolute surprise, Jensen was near smirking with a strange interest coming across in his green stare. Well, well… would ya’ look at that? Misha cracked a wide smile and shook his head.

“So this is it then,” Jensen stood.

“Seems to be.” Dean wore an odd expression and Misha would bet they were both feeling the same impending drowning sensation.

Castiel licked his lips and startled them all by capturing Jensen in a single movement, kissing him more than senseless. Misha shared a look with Dean—both grinning like idiots at how strange and great it was.

With a wiggle of his eyebrows and childlike glee, Dean stepped up behind Cas and waited until the angel had relinquished his hold of Dean’s twin. Misha shook his head at Dean’s antics, but nevertheless fixed his eyes, knowing exactly what Dean was planning. Really, it didn’t surprise him.

Castiel stepped to the side and Dean pretty well pounced, grabbing Jensen even more forcefully than Cas had and laying one on him. Jensen floundered, arms held out comically but didn’t _exactly_ try to get away, letting Dean assault him with his own mouth. Between one beat and the next, Dean had somehow coaxed his twin to kiss him back.

 

 

And the minute Jensen gave in, leaning forward that tiny amount, his mouth going pliable and kissing back, Dean broke off and laughed hard, rearing back and choking with hoots, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

It took Dean a while to be able to speak; he huffed in some air between chortles. “Sorry, man, I had to do that! When the hell would I get another chance to kiss myself?” He kept laughing lightly, his body shaking with it. Misha and Castiel watched the whole thing with sheer delight. It was both a massive turn-on and totally hilarious.

“Damn, that was weird.” Jensen wiped his mouth, stunned. “Really weird.” He emphasized.

“But kinda good though, right?” Dean’s words were basically a pat on his own back.

“It wasn’t entirely horrible.” Jensen conceded and then clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Wow. There has never been this much gay in Misha’s apartment… and trust me, that is saying something.”

All of them cracked up at that. Misha could never have dreamed this up. Ok, maybe once. Or you know… several times. But to see it all in front of him? To have himself, Jensen, Dean and Cas in the same room was a ridiculous notion only a week ago, now it was still ridiculous but it was real, in the flesh. He sighed happily.

“I’m glad I got accidentally sent there.” He told them all.

“Us too, Mish.” Dean said back, giving him a serious once-over.

The inevitable was definitely knocking at the door, and Castiel and Dean needed to go. But before Misha could nod that he was okay with it, that he was ready, he looked over to Cas and told him silently how much it had all meant, how deeply he cared for them both. The angel nodded so discreetly that no one else noticed.

Misha walked over to Jensen and brushed a thumb over his mouth, “Watch this,” he said, and moved up to face Cas standing by Dean’s right side.

“It would not be wise for us to return, but if we can someday… we will.” Cas told Misha as he reached down to take Dean’s hand.

Misha placed his hands on either side of Cas’ face, easing forward to press their lips together. The array of emotions careening through him heightened the response of their touch, the air immediately warping, lights flashing when their bodies pressed tight. It surged them both on. The kiss deepened naturally, and their hands started an easy roam over each other. Misha slipped a hand into the back of Castiel’s hair, mussing it the way he liked. Distantly, he heard Jensen’s astounded curse along with Dean’s sharp intake of breath. Misha felt warm all over, his body responding to Cas’ grace so entirely that he almost couldn’t back away from it.

In the end it was Cas who drew away, breathing harsh and leaning against Dean for support as the angel readjusted from the momentary high.

Jensen’s arms slipped around Misha from behind, hugging him and whispering his heated reaction into Misha’s ear. The commentary was unnecessary though, Misha could feel _exactly_ what kind of reaction Jensen had.

“We’ll see you again, I’m sure of it.” Dean assured, giving a crooked smile for Misha, and a more serious expression for the man over his shoulder.

“Goodbye.” Cas’ deep, final farewell was punctuated by their departure, filling the room with a brief disturbance of air that blew across Misha’s face, leaving with it a lingering hint of their scent and the undertone of that peculiar aroma of the bunker that clung lightly to their clothes. Speaking of… Misha was still in Dean’s jeans and t-shirt. The ones that Cas had magically slapped on to him when they’d left. Dean and Castiel had abruptly shaken him awake and in less than three seconds he was clothed and travelling through space.

The empty spot on the floor where his threesome counterparts had been standing hit Misha like a ton of bricks. His chest seized along with his lungs and he felt hot tears brim up in his eyes. He cursed under his breath, annoyed at how goddamn sensitive he could be.

“I’m sorry.” He blabbered. Jensen shouldn’t have to see his grief over losing Dean—it sort of negated the whole ‘You and Dean’ are the same person speech he’d used in his defence earlier. Thankfully, the chin resting on Misha’s shoulder tucked in closer to his neck and planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin.

“Don’t be.” Jensen whispered. “I get it. Besides,” he switched into a lighter tone, “the next time I’m a grouchy asshole I can use the excuse that Dean’s probably gettin’ his ass beat somewhere.”

Misha laughed, feeling the responding grin beside his jaw, their combined scruff scraping a little. A warm press of lips grazed over the skin below his ear. Jensen pulled him closer, his still very present erection a hard ridge against Misha’s ass.

“I missed you, babe. I really did miss you.” Misha told him, layering his arms over Jensen’s.

“Me too.” Jensen replied. Though his tone implied he was way past wanting to talk, and he shifted his body, showing Misha what was more on his mind than anything else.

“Not mad at me anymore?” Misha wondered as one of Jensen’s hands slid down his abdomen and continued lower to grope possessively over his growing arousal, the breath escaping between his lips.

“Hmm… not really. But I’m inclined to smack that ass anyways.” Misha groaned at the playful tease, rubbing back against Jensen’s hard warmth. Their sexual relationship wasn’t quite as adventurous as Misha would have liked, but when in the right mood, he could get Jensen to partake in some very fun activities.

Misha let Jen strip him down in the open living space. He rolled his head back when the last of the clothes were gone and let himself rest against Jensen’s chest, glad to be in his arms. Misha took in a deep breath, finding peace in the scent of Jensen’s cologne, and that lovely warmth that he radiated. Misha had learned, in the end, that Dean shared that very unique hint of warmth in him—underneath all the booze and soapy, deodorant smell. The indescribable fragrance that Jensen had always found funny was definitely a part of both of them.

Misha turned in Jensen’s hold and threw his arms around Jen’s neck, pressing their faces close. They smiled at each other and kissed in soft pecks until each press was one second longer than the last, and then deeper, and then louder. Grazing, eager tongues took longer sweeps in the other’s mouth, leisurely tasting and licking inside.

“Get naked.” Misha breathed roughly, stepping back to watch the show. Jensen grinned, biting his lip excitedly. Unfortunately, Jensen was usually a bit zealous and never went slow enough for Misha’s debauched gawking; never getting quite enough ogling time in before his other senses were distracted enough that he could barely function.

But this time, for whatever reason, Jensen stripped off his clothes with glorious slow movements. Inching the t-shirt over his head, smiling before lowering his hands to his jeans and unbuckling the brown leather belt, the clink and slip sounds making Misha’s cock swell even more, pointing straight out from his body. He reached down to stroke himself, letting the view and his own palm ramp him up.

Jensen’s jeans hit the floor with a thunk, and he had on black boxer-briefs with a wide, red elastic band at the top. Giving Misha even more to enjoy, Jensen eased a hand over the thick bulge beneath the black fabric, eyes closing as he touched himself. The action snapped Misha’s patience and he took the step and a half forward and kneeled on the uncomfortable hardwood. He hooked a finger just over the red and pulled, tugging outwards to release a full cock ready for his mouth.

The boxer-briefs ended up on the floor. Jensen grasped Misha’s hair and gently pulled him close. The hot skin over a hard core pressed over Misha’s tongue and lips. Misha swallowed around him, loving the sound of Jensen’s low, choppy breaths. He tingled with the overriding sensation of Jensen fucking into his mouth. Hands and fingers twisted and pulled his hair, until it wasn’t enough for Jensen.

Misha was quickly hauled upwards onto his feet. 

“Don’t ever leave like that again.” Jensen said against his lips, squeezing their bodies painfully close, hip-bones and ribs crushing hard, cocks trapped between them. Jensen’s one arm was wrapped around Misha’s back in a strong hold; the other up near his shoulder with a hand holding tight on the side of his head.

“I’ll do my best never to bleed during a spell again.” Misha laughed at his own words. Jensen reciprocated in a sexy, throaty chuckle, reaching down to grab and lay a hard slap against Misha’s ass.

“You better not!” Jensen growled with the action and geared them towards the two bedrooms down the wide hallway. Misha walked backwards while Jensen essentially stalked him, dick perked up and ready. Fuuuckk… this is gonna be good, Misha swallowed his excitement.

“Thinking you were gone forever did things to me…” Jensen wiped a hand over his mouth and then down his chest, kneading over his left pectoral. They made it to the doorway on Misha’s right, the master bedroom, and Misha paused, waiting. Jensen slanted in towards him, reaching out to slide a hand along Misha’s sensitive side, stopping at his hip and holding him as a thumb rubbed over the jutting bone.

“I know what we have is unconventional,” Jensen declared, “And it’s hard. And I can be a complete asshole sometimes… but I don’t want this to end. _Ever._ ” The final word was punctuated by a firmer dig of Jensen’s fingers on his body. Misha felt his heart flutter wildly in his chest.

He knew that they loved each other, but what was coming out of Jensen’s mouth was more than unprecedented. Jensen had always skirted around discussions about their future because he’d always believed that one day their regular lives would take over, pushing out the room where they’d made a place for each other. What started out as a really shitty day, and then a very interesting day, and then shitty all over again, was somehow taking a turn for the positive once more.

Jensen's stare was darting back and forth between his eyes, circling down to his lips and back again, waiting for Misha to give some form of affirmation that he agreed. Misha released his hold on the doorframe and brought both arms around Jensen’s neck, pulling him down the short distance separating their mouths. With their lower bodies settling in close, he kissed with a rush of passion, overjoyed from the turn of events.

“I love you.” He whispered to Jensen, feeling the prickle of happy tears in his eyes. He cursed his damn sensitivity again but smiled through it when Jensen unleashed his own unhinged, dopey grin. Jen’s tongue stroked in between his lips, tasting him in sweeps. They fell together, skin-to-skin, the slick kiss heating them both up.

Misha hadn’t realized they’d been slowly tripping backwards until his legs hit the corner of the bed, the wood bedframe poking sharply into his calf. He cursed at the brief pain as Jensen’s one arm reached around his lower back and lifted him as they both tumbled down onto the edge of the bed. The sheets and blankets were already mussed and it gave a little tug in his heart knowing that Jensen had slept here while he was gone.

Misha was nudged upwards on the bed, Jensen crawling over him as he shuffled back. They were both grinning, more than a little giddy, feeling a surge of ' _us'_ and ' _yessss…'_

When Jensen nuzzled against his neck, biting, and tugging at his nipples with one hand, making him jerk on the bed, Misha abruptly giggled—feeling too ecstatic to contain the emotion. They rolled together in desperate waves for greater contact, Jensen pressing his hips down so their lengths rubbed together. Misha grabbed them both and stroked them with a lazy hand, grazing his knuckles over Jensen’s lower abdomen.

“I can’t wait.” Jensen murmured in a warm breath against the lower curve of his neck. Jensen thrust into Misha’s palm with a low groan and then grumbled as he eased off and reached over the side of the bed for the nightstand where they had everything they needed.

The sight of Jensen on his knees, the mattress dipping with his weight, while he fisted the silky lube all over his length made Misha’s dick throb and jerk. Jensen grinned and went slower, jerking himself despite being fully slicked up.

“Don’t be a tease.” Misha turned over onto his hands and knees, hearing Jensen growl at the display. A hand rubbed over his ass cheek and then disappeared, returning with a loud, stinging smack.

“Oh!” Misha choked out. “You weren’t joking.” ... _Very_ much to his delight.

“Mm-mmn…” Jensen answered with another, harder slap. Pulling Misha’s hips down just enough, Jensen slid his cock between the crease with a thick moan, before backing off and slapping Misha again.

They both had trouble breathing after that.

“Holy shit…” Misha panted, his head falling between his arms. Another slide and slap. He licked his lips, bit them, and eased backwards hoping for more. But it wasn’t rewarded with anything more than teasing slippery passes of Jensen’s cock riding hard against him, broken with increasingly harder slaps. The self-control over his mouth and body disappeared a little more with each stroke and tingling smack. Misha was soon a whimpering mess, barely able to stay semi-vertical.

 _Christ_ , Jensen had certainly not been lying about really missing him. He rarely ever got this intense; was usually more gentle and enjoyed being the bottom subjected to Misha’s relentless, adoring affection and dirty manhandling.

A hand eased down his cleft, finger rubbing over his now, very extra-sensitive entrance for only a heartbeat before it pushed in deep. Misha groaned a long curse and pressed down until he felt Jensen’s knuckles, hoping that he wouldn’t take his time as Jensen started fucking him with just one finger in slow, explorative strokes. Misha gritted his teeth with the need for more and prayed that Jensen was as desperate as he was. There was no need for prep due to his earlier escapades and he wasn’t sure he could handle idle foreplay.

“Sorry… I need to fuck you so bad right now.” Removing his finger, Jensen let out a stutter of breath and guided the tip of himself straight to that sensitive spot, gently pushing in. The bed shook as Jensen trembled from the tight grip sliding over his cock as he moved in slow. Bracing himself, Misha rammed back onto Jen, causing a twinge of discomfort, immediately replaced by _Oooh God…_ His whole body, and especially down there, spasmed momentarily with the intensity of it all. Feeling Jensen inside him again, being in this room, them together, was soooo what he needed.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Mish…” Jensen groaned through his teeth, fingers digging into Misha’s hips and ass, gripping and guiding Misha up his shaft and then forcibly hauling him back with a dull thump of their hips. Misha looked back over his shoulder to watch.

“Promise I’ll go slower next time… but damn I can’t…” Jensen bit down on his own lip, cutting off his sentence and finishing it instead with successive, rapid thrusts, bottoming out each go.

“S’okay,” Misha slurred, a little delayed, already jerking himself and succumbing to the arousal tingling throughout his hips and ass, ending in repeated throbs along his shaft. He rubbed over himself in a moderate, tight pace to match the feeling of Jensen’s cock thick inside of him.

“Uhh... I’m just gonna go nuts, okay?” Jensen warned, already out of breath. Misha nodded and felt his muscles flicker with impending exhilaration. That glorious sense of waiting for—

Oh Jesus… _that_. Yes… fucking yes. Misha closed his eyes and let himself feel it all.

True to his word, Jensen went fucking wild. Hammering into Misha so hard and fast that the bed-frame was slamming against the wall in repeated blows against the drywall. It was so loud it sounded like they were renovating. The room was filled with a mixture of their low grunts and uninhibited yells—mostly swearing and lewd commentary.

Misha came first, stroking fast and squeezing tight. When his arousal peaked and his balls pulled tight, tingling, he looped over the head several times until his hips began jerking uncontrollably and come jetted into his own hand and over onto the rumple of sheets.

The pulsing of his orgasm carried over to his clenching hole, aching with pleasure and he squeezed hard around Jensen’s dick, the feeling so good a little more come seeped out of him onto the bed.

Jensen swelled inside with a telling jerk and a hissed exhale, followed by abrupt, shuddering of his hips. He shouted out a gravelly moan of exultations, then switching to laughter as he came in sporadic thrusts, gripping Misha’s hips to keep him still.

Jensen immediately collapsed on him and they both fell to their sides with Jensen still sheathed in him, occasionally squeezing them in a twisted hug and sighing a moan against Misha’s ear.

“Fuck that was sooo good.” Jensen laughed in a tired huff, pushing an arm under Misha’s head so he would have something to lay on.

“Hmmm… yes. Blindingly good actually. I can’t feel my ass cheeks.” Misha chuckled, feeling Jensen’s chest expand against his back as he tried to breathe normally, the skin was slick with sweat. The heat of Jensen’s body was so strong that it made their embrace nearly uncomfortable but Misha wasn’t ready to move away just yet.

“I hope I just made Dean come in his pants in a fucking grocery store.” Jensen gleefully speculated.

“Or worse… in front of Sam!” They both broke out into sated laughter, easing apart to let cool air hit their skin. They tried to organize the bed enough so they could get under the warmth of the blankets when they were no longer fevered but they couldn’t manage to untangle the sheets and comforter. So, they ended up with Misha having a half-twisted mess over his groin and Jensen having a corner of one sheet across his chest and arms, his ass and legs bared to the crisp, air-conditioned room.

“Ugh… I’m in a wet spot.” Jensen complained, making no immediate moves despite it.

“Who cares. I’m fucking tired. Can we sleep?” It was getting late enough anyway, Misha thought. And besides, the women knew that if they made up, they probably wouldn’t make it back to Jensen’s apartment.

“Yeah, one sec.” Jensen reached over Misha’s chest, kissing him sloppily on the mouth as he went, stretching to the other nightstand and grabbed his cell. Texting two messages in succession, he locked the screen and tried to toss it lightly onto the nightstand. Naturally, it skidded and thunked onto the hardwood floor.

“What did you say?” Misha asked, grabbing Jensen’s arm again and put it underneath his neck so he could wrap himself up in Texan warmth.

“I told them that you were right and we made up and that we’ll go over in the morning for breakfast.” Jensen started playing with Misha’s hair and he squirmed like a contented cat. “You know Vicki is gonna be pissed I kept you for the whole night?” Jensen added, peering down with those green eyes.

“I know… We’ll make it up to them.” Misha smiled, too blissed-out to move until morning. Besides, he needed this night with Jensen, because tomorrow he was closing himself and Vicki into a room for several hours.

Jensen fell asleep within seconds, usually the first to pass out after a really good bout of sex. As Misha lay there, thinking everything over, he honestly couldn’t believe the week he’d just had. Despite the few unhappy memories and the sadness he felt over missing Dean, he was pretty sure his time in their world would go down as the most unique and interesting that he would probably ever have.

Knowing that he could pray to Cas whenever he felt the need was also a great bonus. The comforting thought that someone was there to listen, and that he could say anything, knowing that Castiel would understand, even if the concept was foreign to him.

Tangled up in the half-strewn sheets with Jensen’s heavy arms and leg securely around him, he sent Castiel a little prayer before he, too, fell asleep.

 _Wish you both could’ve stayed. Hope to see you soon… By the way, this might sound horribly arrogant, but you are really hot. Dean thinks so too,_ Misha thought with a mental wink. _Have fun together. And umm… I miss you. Yeah, said that already. Hope I don’t annoy you with my prayers, I’ll probably pray a lot. Jensen might too, but he probably won’t tell me. Get Dean off a lot, I want to witness Jensen’s reaction first-hand. Preferably in public where he will try to hide it and I will be delightfully amused._

_Well… I guess I’ll sign off or whatever. G’Night!_

Feeling like he had everything finally in its place and set right again, Misha drifted off to sleep in the comfort of his own bed, blissfully sated, riding a wonderful high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the story as much as I liked writing it. Stay tuned for the epilogue. Not sure when I will write it but it won't be an insanely long time from now, I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I have truly loved writing this story. Please feel free to come visit me on tumblr:  
> [Cocklesheadboop](http://cocklesheadboop.tumblr.com)
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> [Want to treat me to a coffee? I'll love you forever](https://ko-fi.com/A082HZ2)


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